


Free Inside Your Own Hell

by pand_em_onium, sull89



Category: James Bond (Craig movies), James Bond (Movies), James Bond - All Media Types
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-10
Updated: 2017-05-13
Packaged: 2018-10-01 23:46:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 66
Words: 129,238
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10203569
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pand_em_onium/pseuds/pand_em_onium, https://archiveofourown.org/users/sull89/pseuds/sull89
Summary: Working relationships, at least in James's world, aren't mean to translate into anything more. But death changes things, doesn't it? Puts little gaps in his armor that may just let someone else through.





	1. Someone Let Me Out

The funeral was an uncomfortable affair. Having only been a part of MI6 for a dismally short amount of time, Q couldn't say that he had any real feelings for M beyond the respect afforded to her competent leadership. He could see, however, by the number of solemn faces in the crowd around him that she had had an effect on his co-workers, down to the lowliest Q-Division employees. If anything, that which he mourned the most was the fact that he hadn't gotten to know her all that well. The emotion that drove him to go to the funeral and to stay through the gathering afterward was guilt. 

Out of the large percentage of the MI6 population in attendance, the last person he expected to see was Bond. He'd been practically inanimate since his return from Scotland and though he was another person Q only knew of via vast reputation and little personal interaction, Q felt a sort of kinship with him. It had been his own failing that made James' flight to Scotland with M necessary in the first place and his skills that set the trap for Silva that ultimately proved fatal for their leader. 

So, seeing him alone on the edges of the gathering with a glass of something - scotch or cognac judging by its color - Q couldn't help but feel drawn to him. It was clear that Bond shared his feelings of guilt, judging by his stony silences and avoidance. Moneypenny had even commented earlier she was surprised he'd bothered to come; public shows of mourning weren't exactly his thing. 

Perhaps he'd been emboldened by the drinks made available for the funeral-goers, or perhaps he just wanted someone to commiserate with; either way, Q found himself standing beside Bond, staring out at the city from the large window. It wasn't until the older man leveled him with a weary, uninviting look that Q realized he had nothing profound to say. It was clear Bond didn't want company, but Q held his ground and took a drink from his own glass to sort through an appropriate greeting. "What are you drinking?" 

He nearly winced at the inadequacy of the question. Q was not an overly social person and without knowing the depths of Bond's attachment to M or even much about the man himself, it was difficult to know what to say in the first place. Part of him wanted to start by apologizing for his role in Silva's escape, but he knew enough about Bond to know that was not the right answer. His drink seemed the easiest starting point, assuming the man didn't abandon the conversation entirely due to the mundane topic. Q could only hope the fact that he was the only one bold enough to approach Bond in an attempt to show some measure of support would be his saving grace.

The decision to come hadn’t been one James made lightly. Responsible for her death, the question of whether or not he even had a right to attend was one he struggled with all together more than he would ever want to admit. In the end, it was a memory that had broken through to him one night in a drunken stupor, the sound of her voice resonant in his skull, “Do quit moping, 007, and get some real work done. I have no use for you if you intend to continue loafing around.” 

So he’d gotten up and put down his drink for the first time in four days, coaxing some warmth back to his body with a shower and shave – if he was going, he needed to look presentable. That had been four days ago and kept him on his feet long enough to get him here. But of course it wasn’t enough to completely stop the drinking. 

“Alcohol,” the agent responded acerbically once he realized his glare of discontent wasn’t going to scare the young boffin off. That bit of knowledge annoyed him – it was a rare human being who actually had the fortitude to withstand him at his surliest. Before M’s death there had only been three he knew of – he wasn’t on board with the idea of it being any more than two now. 

Though it wasn't unexpected, Bond's biting tone actually helped ease him into a more natural response than the forced conversation he'd attempted to start. "Wonderful. I'd be worried if it was apple juice, but since it's your usual diet I see there's no real cause for alarm." Sarcasm suited him much better, and Q wondered if Bond would appreciate that he wasn't being treated delicately. Judging by the sympathetic gazes occasionally leveled his way, it was likely that anyone else would be too soft for the agent's liking.

The quip, when it came, was sharp but delivered with a tempered edge, “Glad that’s been cleared up, then.” Clearly in no mood for light conversation, James turned his attention back to the dreary London day playing out beyond the windowpane, the muscles of his throat the only thing moving with much fluidity as he steadily worked to drain his glass. 

Losing M had been a blow both devastating and wholly overwhelming. Though the potential of his mission failing had been a nagging thought at the back of his mind through the entire journey to Scotland, James was able to shut it off entirely once the operation had actually begun, like usual. He had a plan, he was going to execute, and at the end of the day if it hadn’t been for the fact he was stupid enough to allow M to actually stay on the front lines it would have gone off without issue. There was no way to forgive himself for allowing a mistake so utterly novice.

Undeterred, Q remained at Bond's side and took in the overcast sky, eyes tracing trails of water droplets as they raced down the glass. Small talk had been his way into a sturdier conversation the first time they met, but the mood was too sour for that it appeared. Taking another route this time, he opted for starting at the core of his reason for approaching in the first place. "I'm sorry, Bond." He paused only long enough to ensure the other man's attention was on him, but not long enough to think he was offering his condolences. "I should have anticipated the laptop was a trap. The venture to Scotland would have been unnecessary had I taken all the precautions available to me." 

It was clear his words were sincere by the guilt hanging heavy in his eyes. Q wasn't simply trying to ease the burden Bond so clearly carried by shouldering his own responsibility as some might do. He truly carried his own share of the blame, the lion's share in his mind. Perhaps no good would come from sharing his regrets but there was certainly no harm in trying.

The only immediate response that came was a deep sigh, the sound edging closer to despondency than frustration. As another sixty seconds passed, James finished his drink and yet held on to the empty glass as though it was a safety net, kept him from having to figure out something else to do with his hands. 

When he finally spoke it was with a quiet restraint that seemed almost out of place, “You should have.” Though it was honest, the words contained no castigation, no lecture. Q should have taken more care, been more cautious, just as James should have been as well. He wasn’t going to throw stones from his own glass house.

"...that's it?" Q raised an eyebrow, wondering if Bond was really so keen on taking all the blame that he was blind to where it truly lay. "I appreciate the tepid response, but I expected somewhat more of a lecture." During their first meeting, he'd been haughty and cocksure; one had to be when dealing with double oh agents who were full to bursting with confidence. He expected to have his nose rubbed in it now, at the very least. 

Q wasn't sure why he was fishing for Bond's anger; perhaps it would be soothing in a way. MI6 and the double oh program was under fire as it was and he'd come in and made it worse, getting their leader and strongest proponent of the program's continuation killed in the process. Until there was an outburst of anger, Q felt like he'd be walking on eggshells around the people to whom M had mattered. He'd rather get it over with.

The gaze that James cast Q’s way was silent and critical, as though every millimeter of the younger man was being scrutinized for something. In another place, at a different time, James would have been more than willing to engage in this conversation and bring Q to task for his youthful, reckless pride. But as it stood he didn’t have it in him. Not here, not now, with the closest person he’d had to a mother figure rotting in a casket not ten meters away. With an indifferent air, James let one shoulder rise and fall in an approximation of a shrug and turned his attention back to the windows. 

Though he had known it already, it was now abundantly clear that Bond was not in any kind of talking mood, belittling or otherwise. It was selfish of him to push for more. "Well, then..." Q murmured softly, hovering awkwardly in place before slipping away into the crowd once more. 

It didn't feel right, leaving the agent to stew by himself, even if that seemed to be what he wanted. Q was gone for several minutes, long enough that he was worried the other man would have left by the time he returned. This time as he approached Bond, he didn't say a word. He just held out another glass, full of scotch - it'd been his best guess about what he'd been drinking - to replace the empty one Bond still held.

Whatever James had expected to see, Q’s slender fingers offering him a glass of liquid numbness hadn’t been anywhere near the list. Though he knew for a fact it wasn’t true he had always pictured the boffin as a teetotaler – so the view in front of him rang dissonant. There was a split moment of hesitation but when James moved it was efficient and smooth as always. 

He took the offering without a word, though he did tilt his head slightly in acknowledgement. The cool glass against his palm helped him maintain his calm detachment and for that he was grateful. Once again turning his gaze back toward the window, James lifted the glass to his lips. This time, though, regardless of his gaze his attention was focused on Q.

Q had given up hope of a conversation, instead opting to look out the window and nurse his own drink - gin instead of scotch. He couldn't say what it was that kept him there, exactly. Maybe he just wanted Bond to know he wasn't alone, even if his own morose feelings were vastly different than the other man's. There wasn't anyone else at the funeral he knew enough to hang around with anyway; Q hardly felt like he belonged, having just been appointed Quartermaster shortly before this whole mess had started.

Taking his time with this drink, James nursed the scotch over the course of fifteen or so minutes, all of them passing in silence. But there was something that felt different when he drained the last drop from his glass, something that felt… safe. Shifting focus from the dreary sights outside to the reflection in the glass, James studied Q once more, eyes discerning and deliberate as they moved. “No one can help you in your guilt,” his voice rang quiet in their little corner, words spoken without preamble. 

Q nearly started at the sudden sound of Bond's voice breaking the silence with no warning. He hadn't caught the way the other man studied him in the reflection of the glass, his own focus having been on the people hurrying by on the street. When Bond spoke though, Q turned his head to face the other man directly. He ran his finger around the edge of his glass as he gathered his thoughts. "No, I suppose not," he agreed after a moment.

“Learn to live with it,” though the words were harsh, the tone they were delivered with was threaded with the weight of experience, “or it will cripple you.” M wasn’t the first person he’d lost, probably wouldn’t be the last. He’d learned to compartmentalize, deny, forget. It was a fragmented existence, but it got him through the night. There was still spark in Q, vibrant life, and for some reason James felt some small urge to protect that flame.

On their own, Bond's words were not kind but Q could feel the weight behind them and knew it was not a reprimand, but advice. He knew that the other man had more experience with this sort of thing and all he could do was nod. There wasn't much he could say in reply - thanking Bond certainly wouldn't be appropriate but it didn't feel right to say nothing. Fidgeting with the glass somewhat awkwardly, Q finally nodded again. "I will," he promised, hoping it was advice he would be able to take

James gave a curt nod in response, his eyes still lingering on Q’s soft reflection in the window. This young man wasn’t like the ones he was used to – most kids his age, at a place like this would be soldiers, agents in training, field operatives of some kind, brash and overconfident and rough around the edges. Though Q could be called overconfident regarding the Skyfall incident, James was absolutely certain he’d learned from it and would change how he comported himself going forward. That was another difference between him and his peers. 

Q was soft, from his long hair to his suede shoes to the archaic style with which he dressed. In a fight James would be able to put him down instantaneously. But that wasn’t the point, was it? This young man wasn’t meant for the field – his mind and fingers were the sharpest things about him and that, along with an internet connection, was all he needed. If he was honest with himself, Q unsettled James somewhat. He could still hear M’s voice, clear as day one of the many times he’d pissed her off, telling him that he was a relic. Q was anything but. 

But what that meant was that Q needed to humble himself, needed to understand that his skill perhaps outpaced his practical knowledge of espionage, at least for the time being. He needed to work with the agents, just as – begrudgingly – James had come to accept they needed to work with him. The Quartermaster was the last major player in MI6 that M had been able to install before her death. If the old woman saw fit to do that, James knew there was steel in Q somewhere. James refused to let her go quietly, under the smug satisfaction of haughty halfwits from parliament. To honor her legacy it was going to take work from both of them. 

Q watched Bond uncertainly while the older man watched his reflection in the window, unaware of the depths of his thoughts. His blue eyes were steely and somewhat narrowed, as though deep in thought. Q couldn't help but wonder if he was reconsidering his earlier decision not to rake him over the coals. But as the minutes went by and Bond remained silent, Q relaxed and let his gaze wander back to the window. 

Now that he was aware that he was being watched, every now and then he'd find himself meeting Bond's gaze in the window's reflection. The man was usually damnedably hard to read, but with the added layer of the window's reflection, it was impossible to tell what he was thinking now. He seemed faraway compared to how intense his stare had been earlier; Q wondered if it was the drink or just the grief rearing his head again. Either way, Q remained at his side, a silent sentinel giving him what little comfort a near stranger could.

The rest of the event passed much the same way, though the fact that James never tried to chase Q off hung obviously in the air. They’d lost her, the two of them, so perhaps it was fitting they spent the misery of this day together. James had done what he’d needed to, the unspoken words echoing loudly in his skull as he’d stood next to her casket. By the time it was polite to take his leave he was more than ready to do so – it was easier to drink heavily in private and he didn’t have to try so hard to keep himself together. 

Q let Bond drift away once everything came to a close. He hadn't expected him to stick around for any length of time anyway, so he didn't bother following. He hadn't planned on staying long himself; he hadn't really known the woman after all, he had no right to stick around and infringe on the grief of others. Shortly after Bond made his exit, Q stepped out as well, heading to his office. Perhaps he could at least get some work done.


	2. It Only Grows

The pall that hung over MI6 was tangible, though everyone present pretended all was well. They were English, after all, it was what they did. Besides, the old woman would have beaten them for showing any of the distress they all felt. As Mallory was installed in her stead much of the old guard, James included, felt their hackles raise. But they soldiered through as always and as such James found himself entering Q Division late one night on something of a whim, plagued by demons and unwilling to fight them for sleep.

The fog of grief settled in deeply and Q wasn't immune to it. He did his best not to fall in the pattern, barking orders at his minions when their work turned sluggish. It wasn't winning him many friends, judging by the glares he got, but it was necessary. MI6 had to carry on without the former M and for that to happen Q Division had to function properly. 

Still, Q often found that ordering the others around was just a useful distraction from his own feelings and he worked longer and longer hours to bury the sensations of guilt and failure that still hadn't properly surfaced. Mallory had said a few words but for the most part had gone fairly easy on him. 

On this particular evening, Q was in the lab going over complicated schematics for upgrades to the vehicles the agents used. He was so distracted he didn't even look up upon hearing the door open and it wasn't until Bond had nearly crossed the room that he noticed him. "Bond. What on earth are you doing here at this hour?" he asked belatedly.

Not one that felt he had to answer to Q, James’s only response was a noncommittal shrug as he invaded Q’s space, looking over his schematics with an appraising eye. It took only a few moments for him to find something to say regarding what lay in front of him – his Astons held one of the only soft spots in his heart, after all. “You can’t do that,” he commented, tapping his finger against the schematic above the headlights, where the modified missile design left two air vents in the grill, “you’ll completely ruin the lines of the car.” 

It took Q a moment to recover from Bond's sudden closeness. Their previous work together had mostly been long distance and he was unused to an agent taking such liberties with his personal space. For the most part, they ignored him entirely unless he was issuing their gear. Clearing his throat once he'd recovered, Q looked from the schematic to Bond and back again. "Are you suggesting that I scrap months of work on much more efficient and accurate missiles because of your aesthetic preferences?"

“I’m suggesting you avoid making our vehicles stand out like a shark in the desert,” James responded laconically, a verbal version of rolling his eyes. The places agents frequented often tended to be full of the wealthy and elite of the world, many of them car aficionados. They would notice a modification like that instantly and it would automatically set the more criminally minded of them on edge. 

Q snorted and clicked through a few tabs on the laptop before turning it around. "Then I suppose it's a good thing those are incomplete preliminary plans drafted while I perfected the pneumatic system that will pull a proper cover down in its place almost instantaneously. It’s also strong enough to withstand any front end collisions you might get yourself into." As he watched Bond take in the new details, Q felt himself sitting up a little straighter. "Please, Mr. Bond. I am not am amateur."

Watching Q puff up like an offended chicken had always made James smirk but tonight it actually made him laugh – perhaps for the first time since Skyfall. The sound surprised him but he let it come, light reaching his eyes for just a moment, “I enjoy watching you prove that.” As he spoke, James felt the world tilt just slightly, as though the air pressure changed too quickly. He and Q were close, close enough for him to make out the faint lines etched at the corners of the younger man’s eyes. It tempted him to reach out and touch them. 

Q huffed softly though he deflated almost at once, tearing his gaze away from Bond. Though he'd meant it lightheartedly - or at least, that was how it sounded - it brought his guilt flaring up again. He hid it fairly well, he thought, not one for wanting pity. When he looked back up at the agent he realized the distance between them seemed to have gotten shorter. "Are you quite finished invading my personal space?" Q asked dryly once he'd found his voice.

Disregarding the fact that Q had spoken and perhaps because of the late hour, James gave in to the temptation and indulged himself. Reaching out, he lightly touched two fingers of his right hand to the left side of Q’s face, blunt nails tracing the soft lines radiating from the corner of his eye. Q was warm to the touch and soft, the sensation welcome against James’s fingertips. As his hand moved outward James allowed it to trail over the fine hair that fell forward over Q’s ear, the variance in texture lighting something warm inside him. 

Normally no one bothered to approach their head boffin, especially to get as close as Bond was. Q supposed it was his exhaustion and the late hour that made him less prone to step back, but being so close also forced the reminder that he found James Bond attractive. Whatever the reason, it was shock that kept him from reacting right away when the other man actually reached out and touched him. "Just what do you think you're doing?" he asked finally, pleased that his words came out level once they'd become unglued from his throat

“This,” James answered instantaneously and without even smidgen of shame. To be sure, most of the time he was devoid of shame anyway, but it was pertinent at this point in time. Without removing his hand from Q’s skin, James changed the trajectory and lightly dragged his fingers down and along Q’s jawline, enjoying the light scratch of fresh stubble that had started to grow in. For a reason he couldn’t fathom he was tempted to lean in and kiss the young man. The way his hand moved to cup Q’s chin certainly would make it easy.

Bond's actions were certainly brazen enough to catch Q off guard, but only for a few moments. Lifting his chin, he pulled back fluidly and met the other man's eyes. "I don't think that's entirely appropriate," he commented dryly. It wasn't as though he wasn't interested but James had a reputation. He wasn't looking for a relationship, hardly one with a double-oh, but Q was private and therefore didn't want the gossip to start as it inevitably did when one slept with one's coworker.

The response came easily, tinged with amusement, “And why is that?” Undeterred, James stepped forward and closed the gap between them once again, eyes still locked with Q’s. Maybe it was the late hour, or the grief he did his best to ignore, but something made him feel like taking risks. He didn’t have anything particular in mind, had always gotten a thrill out of getting Q’s goat, but this felt like he was standing on the verge of more.

Perhaps Q would be more open to entertaining this rashness if he wasn't fairly certain Bond was only doing it as a distraction. He didn't mind one night stands but he had enough pride to avoid being someone's rebound, so to speak. He took a full step back from the other man and shook his head, making it clear he wasn't going to let it continue. "I don't cavort with co-workers."

At that James laughed, the sound rich as it echoed through the cavernous and otherwise quiet space they occupied. Inclining his head James accepted Q’s dismissal, though he didn’t walk away without the final word, “Not yet, Quartermaster.” The smirk on his face was one of legend and James knew that, more than likely because of Q’s resistance, he was more than just interested in continuing to play this game. “Goodnight,” the word came as James excused himself, turning on his heel to head to the exit. 

"Hm." The dismissive sound was Q's only reply, his eyes following Bond's path until he was completely out the door. Only then did he let himself relax, his shoulders sinking forward. He couldn't say why, didn't even believe in that sort of thing, but Q couldn't deny there was a certain pull toward Bond that he hadn't felt before. If he did ever give in to Bond's flirtation (assuming it continued), he had the unshakable feeling that he wouldn't cope well with the inevitably of the man growing bored with him. Maybe it was just his lack of sleep, but Q didn't relish the idea and resolved not to let it happen in the first place.


	3. Show Me

As time passed James continued on in his game, enjoying the cat and mouse between them. It was a welcome distraction, something to do with his empty nights rather than drink alone. He had become something of a regular at Q-Division during those times, though the only person who was around to realize it was the one he was looking for in the first place. It one was such night, nearing two in the morning, that James entered the main room and leisurely moved to Q’s work desk, liquor on his lips and determination glinting in his eyes. 

Q was normally something of a workaholic but since Skyfall he'd outdone himself in an effort to make up for his mistakes. Not to mention he was still new to the division and as such needed to overhaul everything. MI6 had cutting edge technology but that wasn't enough. They needed to be ahead of the curve in order to keep operating successfully and that was exactly what Q was trying to accomplish. He went through old reports and video, scrutinizing everything that went wrong on operations and worked to find a way to prevent those things from happening again, even if it was an agent's mistake and not a lack of technology. 

It was during one of these reviews that Bond showed up with that smug look that Q knew meant he was in that flirtatious mood of his. That feeling he'd had on the first night only grew stronger over time. He couldn't help but like the older agent; they understood each other's sense of humor and their banter was amusing even if his expression never showed it. Not only that but Q got the feeling their mutual grief and the mistakes they had made laid groundwork for something deeper, something few people were able to reach. Still, in spite of all that, Q was resistant to the idea of giving Bond what he wanted. "And what's your excuse for being here this time, Bond?"

The only response James decided to give was decidedly non-verbal. Moving smoothly, James boxed Q in against his desk, hands gripping either side of the work surface to further make his intentions clear. Damn him but this gorgeous young man had managed to intoxicate him and he was ready for more than just distant flirting. Sliding one hand against the small of Q’s back, James pulled them together and caught Q’s mouth in a searing kiss, all finesse and tongue. 

When Bond's stride didn't slow and there was no witty rejoinder, Q frowned. Clearly he had other intentions. Stepping back toward the security of his desk, Q opened his mouth to tell Bond to forget whatever it was he had in mind, but the other man was too fast. There was absolutely no preamble, none of the slow dance around the spark between them that there had been. Q's words sputtered in his throat and died at the first touch of Bond's lips. 

He kissed back more out of physical habit than any direct mental order, his mind still trying to process what was happening and how he felt about it. It was several long seconds before Q was able to wrench himself away, face unusually hot. "That was completely unacceptable," he said immediately, hating how out of breath he sounded. "You have no right to invite yourself into my personal space and take advantage like that."

The smirk on his lips gave lie to his words but James stepped back and lifted his hands slightly in submission as he spoke, “My apologies, Quartermaster.” Turning, James took note of the couch that ran perpendicular to Q’s desk and decided to help himself, sinking into the soft leather and lounging comfortably, so at ease it was as though he was in his own home. 

Flustered now, Q threw up his hands when Bond made himself comfortable on the couch and then immediately gestured to the door. "That is my personal space as well, Bond, as you bloody well know." There was a clear disconnect between what he knew his logical response should be and what his physical response actually was and Q didn't want things to get out of hand. It had been a rather long time since he'd taken care of his baser needs, after all... "You are not a part of Q-Division. You should not be here. Go home."

“I’m an agent,” James responded, cool and collected as always, “there’s no reason I shouldn’t be here.” If Q wanted him to go because of the kiss – and of course James damn well knew that he did – he could at least admit it. Q was red under the collar but James could tell from the way he’d kissed back, the way that he’d molded pliant to James’s grip, that Q wasn’t as upset as he wanted to pretend. James had hardly come on to him without Q expressing his own interest to begin with. 

"You are not scheduled for any operations that would require you to be here!" Q's words came out harried and it was clear he was flustered. He cleared his throat and tugged his hardly-mussed sweater back into place in an attempt to corral himself. "On top of that, this is hardly working hours. I'm preparing to go home myself, so get off my couch and go lounge on your own."

For a moment James didn’t move, choosing instead to keep his eyes locked on Q’s and enjoy the obvious sense of discomfort with his own desire that the boffin was feeling. But he didn’t press too long, knew that if he actually wanted something out of this he had to respect Q’s true boundaries and that this was one of those times. With a laconic smile James finally rose to take his leave, touching his fingers to his hairline in a mock salute before speaking, “As you’ve ordered, sir.” 

Damn him for being so utterly smug. Of course it certainly hadn't helped that Q reacted like a twitter pated teenager but he hoped he could regain some of his composure now. He stood where he was, fingers curled into fists to stay grounded. His lips twitched with the urge to comment on Bond's sarcasm, but Q decided it was probably safer to keep his mouth shut.

Taking his leave with that same self-satisfied smirk on his lips, James cast a flippant half-wave at Q before casually strolling toward the exit. He had made his intentions quite clear, he thought, and now it was time for the ball to rest firmly in Q’s court.


	4. You Speak

As the days continued on James found his way to Q-Division more often than not. Yet he kept it very respectful, choosing either to help himself to Q’s couch as though it was his own and spread himself languidly, almost welcomingly over the soft leather, or stand just out of reach and watch the younger man work with a sharp, discerning eye. He wondered if it unsettled Q, in truth hoped that it did, hoped that it would spur him into action of some kind.

After the initial late-night kiss that Bond sprung on him, Q found the other man almost impossible to ignore. He seemed able to sense his presence even if he couldn't see him and it was as infuriating as it was intoxicating. Q couldn't think of a time he'd been pursued like this by someone who was highly sought after in spite of his reputation. He would have firmly called it off in the beginning had it not been for Bond's mandatory leave after Skyfall; apparently M had fudged Bond's results a bit after his return and Mallory wasn't going to sign off on his return to the field until he was certain 007 was in the proper shape. 

For some reason, Q didn't have it in him to take away what was clearly keeping Bond's spirits up, even if it was at his own expense. Finally, late one night several days later, Q stepped back from his desk and stretched his arms out behind him, feeling his spine shift as he did; long hours bent over would give him the body of an old man before he was 40. Bond was there sprawled out on the couch and Q joined him, sitting primly once he finished stretching and considered the agent for a few moments before he spoke. "What is it that you want, Bond?"

Looking like a cat who’d gotten cream, James’s eyes lit up at Q sat down. He’d been watching the young man all evening, decided he liked the way the fine hairs at the nape of his neck curled against his skin and wondered if they felt as soft as they looked. Considering the question carefully, James let it sit in the air between them for a moment before responding, “I made that clear.”

Q snorted and crossed his arms, leaning into the cushion. Bond didn't have much of a reputation with men, at least not as far as he'd heard. The cynical part of him theorized that the agent was toying with him and would turn him away the moment he said yes. But, while apparently allergic to commitment, Bond did not have a reputation for being cruel. The silence stretched on for nearly two minutes before Q sat up again and looked Bond in the eye. "My flat or yours?"

Though Q had in turn frustrated, infuriated, amused, and aroused some innate need to protect him before, this was the first time that he had well and truly sent a thrill racing down James’s spine that hit him in his core. The look in the younger man’s eyes coupled with the way that question formed on Q’s plush lips was far more than James expected and everything he wanted right now. “Yours,” the agent responded instantaneously, the look in his eyes heated and laced with desire.

Without moving, Q continued to stare at Bond for several seconds before he nodded once and stood up. The process of shutting down Q-Division was over in a matter of seconds. Shrugging into his jacket, he turned to speak again, a slight frown on his face. "See to it this stays between us. I prefer listening to gossip rather than being the subject of it."

The response to that came just as quickly, a sharp and clear nod of understanding. Though he wasn’t concerned about hiding his liaisons he absolutely would respect Q’s request to do so, especially if it meant he would get to keep enjoying the younger man. Donning his own coat, James smirked down at Q and gestured for him to lead the way, “I’ll drive you.”

Q looked Bond up and down once as he considered the offer before he nodded and took the lead. The anticipation weeks of flirting had built up between them had Q's stomach in knots and his heart beating rapidly. It occurred to him that though Bond had gotten around with many members of MI6, his previous trysts had never been with anyone he worked so closely with. 

Moneypenny was likely the one he worked with on the most regular basis but no one had been able to confirm if they'd actually slept together. Q was so focused on trying to sort out what that meant that he didn't realize they had arrived to his flat without the need for him to provide Bond with any directions. Once the car was parked, Q huffed. "Not that I'm surprised, but I hardly see why it would be relevant for you to know my address."

Shooting him an enigmatic smile, James left that comment unremarked upon and exited his Aston, rounding the hood of the car to open Q’s door for him. As he waited for the other man to alight from the vehicle James watched him through the doorframe and considered – for just a moment – how strange this was. The only other man he’d slept with outside of professional duty was Alec and at first that had been born of youthful hormones and lack of easy access to a suitable dating pool. It had continued to happen because it was comfortable and easy and they understood each other in ways that nobody else could come close to.

The realization that this was the first time he had purposefully pursued a man for personal reasons hit James out of nowhere. How had it taken so long for him to actually realize that? Flirting came easy, Q certainly wasn’t the first man he’d flirted with, but the kiss he initiated had been unprecedented for him. With a small start James shook the thought from his head and instead focused again on Q, the way the light from the streetlamps caught the waves of his hair and set it alight. He couldn’t wait to have his fingers buried in it.

Without pause, Q led the way up to his flat as the anticipation turned into nerves. It really had been a long time since he was with someone and he didn't want to look foolish. For all that Bond was frustrating, Q found himself wanting the other man to like him. Even if this was just something casual he'd like to last more than one night at least. His thoughts carried him upstairs before Q realized he hadn't said anything. He hoped Bond didn't catch on.


	5. Alone

Following behind Q leisurely, James moved as though he didn’t have a care in the world. Though his posture would suggest nonchalance, his mind was running ten kilometers a minute and he was laser focused, eying the gentle curve of Q’s lower back and wondering how it would feel to trace his fingers up the line of the other man’s spine. Q seemed almost impossibly thin, as though a strong wind could blow him a way. But in the past few months James had found a steel underlying the young man and now he was curious how that would translate into the physical.

Q smoothed his palms down the front of his slacks in a nervous gesture before flipping on another light and turning to meet Bond's gaze. He caught the other man staring and raised an eyebrow. "We just got here and the first thing you do is stare at my ass?" he asked bluntly, though there was a hint of amusement on his features. "That didn't take long. I suppose I should be flattered."

Amused and finding it easy to show, James laughed softly and closed the distance between them, wrapping his arms around Q’s hips and firmly palming the ass in question, “I’m going to do more than just look.” Confident and cocksure now that Q had actually taken him home James leaned in and lifted Q up at the same time, managing to wrap Q’s legs around his waist and kiss him all in the same smooth movement.

Q had hoped that his comments would ease his nerves somewhat and when Bond crowded into his personal space immediately he could feel his heart beating in his throat. His work didn't leave him with much time to fantasize but when he did James Bond had starred once or twice. Q may or may not have pulled up the cameras in the gym while Bond was getting himself back in shape and imagined what those arms could do to him. 

A sharp gasp was all he could manage before Bond kissed him and literally swept him off his feet - it seemed as though he was about to experience at least one fantasy tonight. But the shock wore off quickly and now that he'd decided to go for it, Q didn't bother holding back like he had at Q-Division. His long arms curled around Bond's broad shoulders as his fingers linked against the back of his neck, legs fitting snugly around the other man's waist to keep upright.

Q’s response spurred James on further. He wanted to thoroughly fuck Q’s mouth, explore every inch of the other man with fingers and teeth before stripping him down and taking him. To that end he pressed Q up against a wall, letting some of the boffin’s weight rest against the sheetrock as he deepened the kiss, voracious and hungry as he pressed in and used his tongue to tease at Q’s and draw him further into the kiss.

Though he was quiet Q was anything but timid and he returned the kiss with vigor. His fingernails traced up and down the back of Bond's neck and along his hairline and Q briefly lamented the older man's hair wasn't long enough to thread his fingers through. He squeezed his legs around Bond's waist and rolled his hips slowly, hoping he had enough leverage between the wall and the other man's body for the movement to have its intended effect.

The thrill that sent through James was instantaneous and immediately effective. A growl tore from his throat and from there on out the rest of the night passed the same. He wasn’t necessarily gentle but if Q paid close attention there was affection in the way he trailed his fingers along the curve of Q’s hip, the way he took his time when easing Q open, the way he stayed settled inside him when they had finished to give him a moment to recuperate. By the time they were done and disentangled James was completed sated and surprisingly warm. How strange it was to have enjoyed this more than any encounter in a very long time.

Q appreciated that Bond didn't treat him like he was fragile, which was an all-too-common problem in his past. He was anything but passive, giving as much as he took in his own way, unashamed and open as the night went on. As soon as Bond kissed him, his body took over and the nerves he'd been feeling dissipated. Once they'd finished and he managed to catch his breath, Q propped himself up against the headboard and fished a cigarette out from the pack he kept stashed at the back of the drawer in his nightstand. Holding one at the corner of his lips, Q held the pack out to Bond though the man looked ready to fall asleep instead.

Laying on his back and studying the whorls in the ceiling as he found himself absently considering the idea that he rather felt like spending the night, James was almost startled when the proffered cigarette pack appeared before his eyes. With a quiet groan the agent pushed himself to a sitting position and accepted one with a nod of thanks, waiting for Q’s lighter before he spoke, his question disguised as a statement, “You smoke.” 

Feeling generous, Q lit Bond's cigarette before lighting his own, tossing the lighter down and inhaling deeply before he replied, "Occasionally." There was a satisfied smile playing at the corner of his lips and the gleam in his eye gave away exactly what kind of occasions he was referring to. He took another long drag of the cigarette, letting the smoke sit in his lungs to mix with the endorphins still swirling around in his bloodstream. The weeks of anticipation had certainly made this encounter that much better and Q was beginning to think it'd even be worth it if someone did find out about their little rendezvous. 

That got a quiet huff from James but the upward quirk of his lip only proved it was from amusement. Those Q’s preferred brand of cigarette was a bit too light for him James enjoyed the indulgence anyway – contrary to popular belief he couldn’t do this all that often; being able to run and do so well was not only a requirement of his job but all too often necessary for his survival; M would have his balls if he realized James even thinking about ruining his lungs. It was one of the many reasons alcohol was his vice of choice. 

Q had been everything he wanted and more, lithe and supple and smooth under his hands, unmarred and welcoming. But what mattered most was that James had found the underlying steel in Q he’d hoped to, felt it in the way he arched up into the initial intrusion, the way he grabbed at James’s back and directed him where he wanted, the way he’d pushed James just as hard as James had pushed him. It was the kind of encounter he didn’t get all that often and one he hungered for.


	6. Doomed From The Start

This was usually the point in his evening where Q would politely but firmly show the other man the door. He was in no hurry for Bond to leave, though, and even found himself enjoying their companionable silence. He finished the cigarette leisurely, flicking the stub into the ashtray once it burned down to the filter. Bond seemed to savor his as well. "You're either half asleep or in deep thought," he commented, seeing the way the other man's eyes were only partially open.

“The first,” the response came just as languid as James’s posture, slow and smooth through the haze of afterglow and warm smoke filling his lungs. He wanted to stay. That feeling sat low in his stomach, holding him down like the very idea of getting up was exhausting. In the end that was actually what spurred him to his feet. Once the cigarette was extinguished James pushed himself up and flashed one last winsome smile Q’s way as he began to dress.

Q was aware of the stress that came with being an agent; he heard about it all the time. He knew it was difficult for them to trust even each other on certain levels. So, to see Bond so at ease here he was in the process of falling asleep - and then for him to admit it - brought a soft, satisfied smile to Q's lips. 

He was considering the least cheesy way to invite the other man to stay but before he could even draw breath to speak, Bond pulled himself to his feet. Just like that, Q's smile was gone and he felt like a fool; of course he wouldn't stay. Why would he? It was certainly too intimate a gesture for a man who was only in it for physical gratification. Grateful for any distraction, Q gathered the ashtray and turned to put it on his nightstand again, letting the dark look on his features pass before he turned back around.

Straightening his cuffs with an efficient flick of his wrists, James busied himself for a moment with minor details to avoid thinking about what it meant that he wanted to stay. It unnerved him in a way he didn’t often experience and he was quick to chide himself for it – this wasn’t anything more than office amusement, something to pass the time while he was in London, a gorgeous young body to enjoy. Yet as he went to take his leave there was something between them that pulled the next words from his throat, a gentle tease laced with an affection James didn’t often show, “Goodnight, Benjamin.”

"Goodnight, Bond." The words came as a reflex, his muddled mind too slow to pick up on the subtlety of what Bond had said at first. When Q realized that his real name had been used, his head jerked up and his eyes widened. Bond had already left the bedroom by then and it was hardly worth chasing him down for. As far as Q was aware, only M had ever known his name and he saw no reason for Mallory to start sharing that information. He supposed he shouldn't be surprised; Bond knew where he lived, of course he knew his name.

Studiously avoiding serious thought about what had just transpired, James drove himself home and spent the night alone in his own bed, as was his usual state in London. The one thing he was sure of was that more evenings were going to be spent at Q’s place, if he had his way about it. The encounter was magnificent, exactly what he wanted, and sated something inside him he didn’t even know was hungry. 

Q, on the other hand, felt foolish and annoyed for most of the evening for letting himself get so stupidly attached with such little reason. He lit another cigarette and paced to the front door, locking it several minutes after Bond left before returning to the solace of his room to brood. Perhaps if he knew why he felt this linked to the other man it wouldn't be so bothersome. Q spent the rest of his night smoking through the pack of cigarettes and pondering the answer.

Given the previous night, Q let R handle the morning duties and headed in at 10. The pessimistic side of him was in full swing again and he couldn't help but wonder if Bond would stop showing up now that he'd gotten what he wanted. Putting all thoughts of the man out of his mind, Q threw himself right back into where he'd left off on his work the day before, happy to focus on logical problems rather than emotional ones.


	7. Want To Give

James was called away on mission two days later, so his only stint in Q-Division was a quick in and out to collect his gear. That didn’t stop him from giving Q an obvious once over upon arrival or a little smirk when he promised, “I’ll have _something_ for you when I return.” in response to Q’s tired admonition to return the equipment in one piece. He half wondered if he’d hear Q in his ear this mission and if the timbre of his voice would register differently after their encounter. 

The petty part of Q wanted to hand Bond over to R for his mission but he knew that wasn't fair. The other man hadn't done anything wrong and he made his continued interest clear. Still, his first assignment was to see 004's mission through to its close so R had handled the first part of Bond's. It wasn't until late, after he'd sent her home, that Q took over. Bond was at the bar of a luxurious hotel, watching the patrons come and go. Q pulled up the security cameras as well as the feed from Bond's tie pin camera before he spoke. "Our enemies spoil you, hosting events in hotels like that," he mused dryly.

That pulled an almost inaudible chuckle from James’s throat, picked up only because of the ultrasensitive microphone Q-Division deployed on such missions. He simply flashed a grin at the nearest security camera and took another sip of his martini, unperturbed and comfortably casual to any outside observer. 

"Mind your cheek," Q admonished airily, fingers tapping over the keys as he scanned the hallways and got more familiar with the layout. "Do you have your in, yet? The girlfriend seems loyal from our reports but there are plenty of assistants." He paused, distracted for a moment by the constant security feed before he added "Stir your drink if you have."

After a beat, James took his martini glass in hand and fiddled with the stem, letting the rim turn in tight little circle. The assistant in question was actually across the room and they’d spent the better part of the night eyeing one another – she was cute, he supposed, not his preferred type, but it certainly wasn’t going to be a terrible night. 

"Oh good, that makes my job that much easier." Q noticed Bond's eyes flicker to a redhead sitting at a table across the room, his gaze lingering for a moment. He brought up the security feed with the best angle and zoomed in. There were two women at the table; one a blonde in a black sequined dress, a slit cut high up one side. The other was a redhead with shorter hair and thick rimmed glasses, dressed more modestly. If Q had to guess, the blonde was the girlfriend and the redhead the assistant. "The redhead?" he asked for confirmation, watching as both women occasionally swept their eyes along the bar; trying to be discreet he supposed.

Humming softly in response, James finished his martini and caught the bartender’s attention, ordering another for himself and one for the cute redhead across the room. James was certain that she was lost against the spotlight reserved for her boss, always second fiddle and never lavished with attention. He was planning on using that to his advantage tonight.

"Go easy on her, Bond. She looks like a doe," Q commented, watching as the redhead accepted the drink with a somewhat shy smile in Bond's direction. She looked too young and innocent to be involved with an international drug smuggling operation, but being a criminal didn't make her used to flirting he supposed.

James responded to that shy smile with a winning one of his own and slight nod in her direction. He’d handled women like her before. He’d handled women like her boss before. Either way, he had his in and that was what he needed – he tried not to think too hard on what happened to the women after he was done with them. 

Q kept his eyes on the security feed as Bond escorted the redhead back to her room. As the night wore on he felt himself wishing more and more he and the girl - Nikki she said her name was - could trade places. It was a decidedly distracting thought. Once they were finished and Bond had gotten all the information he needed from her - at least that he could safely get for the time being - he retired to his own room. "Well, that seems to have been a successful first day on the job for you, Bond. And not a single thing destroyed! Well done."

Alone in his room James finally let himself chuckle aloud, nodding as he began the process of removing his tie. “I live for your praise, Quartermaster,” he responded dryly, dropping his tie and the accompanying pin on his nightstand – if it happened to land in a way that gave Q the optimal view of James continuing to undress, well…

Though it was hardly his first day on the job he chose not to comment on that, having learned early on that verbally sparring with this Q surprisingly required just as much mental dexterity as the last. He intended to have Q distracted tonight, not up for a match of wits. 

"I see you have no modesty. How many times in one night do you expect me to watch you undress?" It was rather blunt, especially for him, but after their encounter Q was feeling a bit more bold. His tone made it clear he wasn't complaining, though; it was certainly a nice view. 

Though Bond had been technically out of shape for active duty for quite some time after Moneypenney's mishap, he certainly didn't look it now. From this angle and with the lights on, Q could better appreciate just how well-toned Bond was in spite of Mallory's assertion he wasn't yet ready for more physically taxing operations.

With a satisfied smirk, James slipped his trousers over his hips and folded them as though he hadn’t a care in the world, “As often as you keep watching.” They both knew there was no reason for Q to maintain visual on him from the moment he’d entered his hotel room – the fact the younger man did said more about Q than it did about James at this point. 

"I just finished commending you on not destroying anything. I'm hoping you'll continue that trend if you know I'm watching. Though I have a feeling that will be as much a motivation for you as a deterrent, miscreant that you are," Q replied without skipping a beat, completely unruffled by Bond's comment. "Besides, I like having the edge. I can see you but you can't see me," he continued with a soft smirk.

The smirk James flashed the camera at Q’s last comment was anything but virtuous, “Then I should show you something worth watching.” True, they’d only had one sexual encounter but that was enough for James’s confidence to take over, brash and certain in the knowledge that Q would enjoy it. As he finished undressing, James got down to his underwear and nothing else before turning toward the bed, sitting on the edge and simultaneously turning the tiepin camera to ensure Q has the appropriate vantage point.


	8. We Are

Q felt his lungs empty themselves all at once, though he was certain he hadn't made a sound. Surely Bond wouldn't actually... he knew this was being recorded, didn't he? Though he did have a point, it wasn't necessary for him to leave the feed running. With a deft hand, he turned off the recording and erased the last few minutes. He knew he should just cut the feed, but his curiosity was too strong. "That isn't necessary, Bond. Unlike you, I still have work to do," Q replied, managing to sound only minutely interested.

“So do your work, Quartermaster,” the smug sense of satisfaction in James’s voice was evident through the comm line; it was obvious he thought Q wouldn’t be able to tear himself away. Reclining against the headboard, James tilted his head back against the plush fabric and let his hand drift down his stomach, teasing for a moment along his waistband before palming himself through the fabric. He had a good screw not an hour and a half ago and so was content to take his time, gently working his cock to life.

"You're aware I'm not the only person with access to this, I hope," Q replied even as he felt his face grow hot. In spite of his blush, he was pleased he hadn't stuttered. It was too late for anyone to really be working at Q-Division and those who were still there were all in the lab. "Do you ever give yourself a rest? Unless this is how you keep up your ability to rebound quickly. I hear that can get to be difficult once one reaches a certain age..."

Q’s first question only drew an unconcerned shrug from the agent – he’d had plenty of handlers in his years and more than one Q-Division minion had watched him have sex as a part of the job. If they felt like entertaining themselves by watching him relax it was no skin off his nose. As to the second – and somewhat underhanded, if James was being honest – question, he only laughed,   
“You’re well aware of my abilities, aren’t you Q?”

"I can't say that I am," Q replied airily, though his face was still a bit red. His words rang true, even though he was clearly trying to deny they had any kind of sexual encounter in order to keep up appearances. "Watching your escapades only gives me so much to go off of," he added carefully. He could imagine Bond's full abilities, as he put it, though trying to do so sent a pang of want through him he immediately suppressed.

The barest hint of a smirk touched James’s lips at that, though he didn’t respond until after he’d slipped his hand back up and under the waistband of his underwear to take himself fully in hand. It was with a small, satisfied groan that he began to stroke his cock, gentle and slow for the moment, “So I’ll have to take you twice in one night.” Nothing like giving Q first hand experience, if that was what he needed. 

Q scowled at that, annoyed that Bond was being so blunt after having been clear about not wanting anyone else to know about their encounter. "If all you're going to do is display lewd behavior and implausible fantasies about me, I'll have to bid you goodnight Bond. I do have work to do." He cut the video feed then, recognizing how difficult it would be to explain if anyone were to ask. The audio was always open, though, for the safety of the agents, so Q did his best to block Bond out as he threw himself back into his work in earnest.

With nothing but a soft laugh through the microphone, James let Q pretend to focus on other things while finishing what he started. Though he wasn’t one to over-act, when he moved his hand just right he let small sounds of pleasure escape – if Q heard them, then he heard them. Once he’d finished there was nothing left to do but clean up and slide between the sheets, which was exactly what he did.


	9. Falling

The rest of the operation went by smoothly and no one appeared to have reviewed the incriminating audio. Not that there was a real threat of that happening unless something went wrong, and even then it was only marginally likely, but any possibility had worried Q in that moment. He felt somewhat better when Bond came home with him almost immediately after returning. Q had been worried that the first time would be the last; it was too good to be over so quickly and Q clung to that reason in spite of the quickly blossoming feelings he did his best to brush off. Bond's patterns came to be habit and it became that much more difficult for Q to ignore his growing affection.

The mission was nothing of import, simple and easy in the way James completed many like it before. Getting to go back to London was, for the first time, actually welcome. There was something, someone he wanted to get back to. It was just for fun. James compartmentalized and deflected, insisting to himself that the numerous evenings spent with Q were mere amusement, nothing more. 

London had nothing new to offer; that’s why he frequented the boffin’s private residence more than once most weeks. And that was why he found himself barely a month later curled up under the sheets and flush with afterglow, warm with Q tucked against his side and deciding, just this once, that it was okay to close his eyes and drift off. Dinner had run late, their encounter had been intense, and it was just one time. It didn’t mean anything. 

At first Q hadn't realized Bond's intent to stay the night. From the beginning the older man hadn't left right away, always leaving Q to wonder how long he would stay the next time. It wasn't until he jerked awake two hours after they'd finished and realized Bond was still there, warm and solid beside him, that Q brought himself to hope the other might actually stay. He studied the agent’s face as he slept, marveling at how different he looked while so at peace and relaxed. 

Bond appeared younger, softer somehow, as though consciousness carried with it the weight of everything he'd been through whether he was aware of it or not. Q didn't want to move, worried that if he woke up he'd leave but the reason he'd jerked awake in the first place was the sudden need for the bathroom. He tried to be careful, moving in slow measured paces to try and preserve the moment.

Comfortable and safe or not, James was still James. The moment Q jerked awake he was roused from his sleep though he actually took a few minutes to wake fully. As Q was trying to ease himself from his arms James opened his eyes with a soft groan, releasing his grasp on the younger man and blinking owlishly against the low light coming in through the windows, “Q?”

As soon as he felt Bond move, Q froze, hoping he would settle back to sleep. When he spoke, however, he knew there was no going back. He sighed heavily, resigned to the fact that the other man would likely leave, and sat up fully. "I didn't mean to wake you," he murmured, "I just needed to get up for a moment." Again, Q knew he was being unfair by hoping Bond would stay. He never said anything, not wanting the other man to think he'd gotten clingy, but Q so enjoyed their time together he couldn't help but want it to be extended.

Instinct ran like blood in James’s veins, the first question out of his mouth the same one that came on missions when something unexpected happened, “Status?” He was tired and warm, wanted to sink back into the overly fluffy comforter Q kept on his bed and drift off again sooner rather than later. But he also didn’t want to do that alone. 

With a soft, surprised chuckle, Q pushed himself out of bed. "Full bladder," he replied with an officious tone. Clearly Bond was still tired and he'd made no attempt to get up. Without saying anything else, Q padded to the bathroom and hoped if he was quick and quiet Bond might be lulled back to sleep before he awoke fully. It wasn't more than two minutes later that he crawled back into bed, pleased to see that the older man had barely shifted in the time he'd been gone.

A half hum of acknowledgement was the only response James felt that needed; Q wasn’t going to be gone long and nothing was wrong. Letting his eyes close again James waited, drifting easily until Q slid beneath the sheets again. At that point it was automatic, the way he reached out and wrapped his arm around the younger man’s slender waist, pulled him in close and settled in to finish out the night in blissful oblivion.

That simple action sent Q's mind into overdrive almost immediately. Bond had never stayed before, had never even given any indication that he would stay. What did it mean that he was clearly content to remain where he was? Probably nothing, the rational side of his mind butted in. Nothing but exhaustion catching up to him. He'd probably be gone before breakfast and it'd be a waste to read too far into this. Still... Q felt foolish, like an inexperienced teenager, but it was pleasant and he was resolved to enjoy it for however long it lasted.

When James awoke the following morning he was fully aware of where he was and why. He’d made the conscious decision at some point the night before that it was okay to stay, that it was Q and that – somehow – that made things different. But he was an early riser and today was no different; up with the sun, James quietly padded his way through Q’s flat and into the kitchen, setting the tea kettle to boil for the inevitable Earl Grey the younger man would want before fetching water of his own.

Q wasn't a late riser by any means but he was still worn out from the night before on top of the late hours he kept. It wasn't until the kettle whistled that he awoke, albeit groggily. He pushed himself up on one arm, rubbing his eyes furiously with his other hand as memory returned. For a moment Q thought he put the kettle on and came back to bed while the water boiled. 

But the ache in his thighs reminded him he hadn't been alone the night before, which meant Bond was still here. A slow, sleepy smile spread across his face briefly before Q pulled himself out of bed and threw on whatever clothes were nearby and appropriate before making his way to the kitchen.

Clad in only his underwear and slacks, James stood bare chested at the kitchen counter with a mug in front of him and a slightly pained look on his face as he measured out what he thought – hoped – would be the right amount of tea. Adding the now loaded strainer to the cup, James pushed it back slightly and left it to steep, reaching for his own glass and taking a deep, slow draught from it as he turned his attention to the sunrise peaking in through Q’s windows. 

Though he couldn't see the entirety of Bond's expression from the angle he was at, Q could still make out the concentration on the older man's face as he measured out the tea leaves into the strainer. It didn't immediately occur to him that Bond was trying to assess Q's own preference for the tea, but when he realized the reason for the care taken he found himself smiling again.

"You needn't be so precise. I prefer it strong," Q said by way of greeting. He almost regretted saying anything in the first place, having enjoyed the rare sight of Bond so at ease in his kitchen. His state of undress held most of Q's interest, especially considering the way the sunlight highlighted the older man's toned arms and abdomen. He found he didn't at all mind if he was caught staring.

Turning slowly, James fixed his eyes on Q and appraised him for a long, quiet moment. Not much for mornings, the agent only nodded in response before crossing the room and placing one of his hands heavy on Q’s hip, dragging him into a kiss without preamble. There were better things to do than talk.

Q had grown so used to Bond's banter than when his greeting was met with silence he was immediately convinced he'd said something wrong. It wasn't until Bond was kissing him firmly that he allowed himself to relax enough to return the gesture, running his hands up the sides of the other man's arms. Q's long fingers curled around Bond's biceps, holding him in place and enjoying the easy closeness between them.

When the kiss had become long enough to be satisfying but not so long that it was going to lead to something more intricate James broke it off, finishing by gently capturing Q’s bottom lip between his teeth. “I’m leaving soon,” he commented then, grip on Q’s hip still solid, a clear message that the other man was to stay close, at least for now.

Q sighed softly, eyes darting away before he gave up too much of his inner thoughts. It didn't hurt anything for Bond to pick up on the fact that Q didn't want him to leave, but surely the other man would find him pathetic if he realize just how much he enjoyed his company. To save face, Q nodded and met Bond's eyes again, his expression carefully schooled. "Of course."

To that James only responded with another nod and another kiss before finally releasing Q and heading back to the bedroom, redressing in yesterday’s clothes and smoothing out the wrinkles before returning to the main living area. He watched Q for a moment, made sure he was drinking his tea before approaching and leaning in, capturing Q’s soft lips in one last slow, languid kiss before moving for the door.


	10. Your Dreams

Q entered the kitchen once Bond disappeared into his room, checking on the tea. It hadn't steeped nearly long enough so he opted for the rest of the water Bond hadn't finished. He sat primly in the chair closest to the kitchen and curled his fingers around the glass, managing only a few sips before Bond reappeared. Q didn't say a word, not trusting himself to speak; it would be entirely too easy to ask him to stay. It wasn't until the other man left that Q finally said aloud what he was thinking, "Idiot."

The journey back to his car was uncomplicated but a touch lengthy, giving James more time than he wanted to think. He’d stayed the night. The last time he’d done that and it hadn’t been for work was with Vesper. The last time he’d woken up and wanted to hold someone in his arms was with Vesper. The last time he’d felt intimate with someone, felt like this with someone, had been with Vesper. Though he wouldn’t admit it, that terrified him. But he could already feel a yearning in his chest to do it again.

And so it went.


	11. Slowly Turn

Approximately three hours after the ordeal in Mexico, the whole of MI6 knows. Q, who is currently occupied trying to restore what is left of the DB5, hears it in passing as a pair of his underlings relates the rumors passed down from headquarters. He lifts his head, calling out to one of them, the one who's name he actually knows. "Denby, what's this about Mexico?" The junior Q-Division member stops and repeats the rumor; James Bond has gone rogue in Mexico during a major holiday there and destroyed an entire city block while he was meant to be taking a holiday. Q waves him on impatiently once he's gotten the full story, feeling like someone has just poured ice water down his back. 

Abandoning the somewhat hopeless task of restoring the shell of what used to be a masterpiece, Q retreats to his laptop, pulling up articles and live video coverage, cursing under his breath. He didn't even give Bond a penknife and still he manages to wreck such havoc. Still, by all reports Bond is still alive and it appears for all the damage he did, there weren't any casualties, other than the men he targeted. 

It's a few days later when Bond returns, and Q is noticeably agitated. He heard about the MI6 agents escorting Bond to M directly, knows it won't be long before 007 is sent to him for medical, but his mind won't stop. Something is happening. Bond is reckless but not like this. Q curses his relative inexperience with the department, feeling as though if he'd been here longer he might be able to grasp what was really going on. 

M calls him to his office hours later, detailing his plans for Q's Smart Blood invention. He had anticipated it, of course, and he agrees readily. Knowing now that M has finished with Bond, Q stops back at Q-Division just long enough to prepare the Smart Blood for the following day before he heads to Bond's penthouse in the city. It's late by now, but Bond is probably the only person who sleeps less than he does.

He stares at the door for a long while before he manages to knock. He and Bond aren't exactly predictable in their encounters, and Q isn't entirely sure which version of the man he'll be greeted with tonight. Finally, when the door opens, Bond's eyes fall somewhere level with his shoulders, as though he expected someone shorter to be at the door. "Expecting someone else?"

James found the question asinine enough to provide only a frown in response, the lines of his face etching in deeper with the movement. “Q,” he states calmly, stepping back just enough to allow the other man into his flat. Locking the door behind them both, James turns and heads back to his living room without another word. As he reclaims his seat he shakes his head slightly, eyes drawn yet again to the video still paused on a freeze frame of the recently deceased M. 

He expected that whatever Q wanted, he would be out with it soon enough. The man had the temerity to drop in on him unannounced; James wasn’t going to chase the reason as to why. Without comment he went back to the concern at hand, working out how to get himself to the funeral in question without the usual resources at his disposal.

007 it was, then. Q separated their encounters mentally by referring to the other man with varying levels of familiarity. When he was all business like this, it was 007. When he relaxed some and bothered to act more human and less machine, he was Bond. Somewhat flirtatious, mostly just annoying. But the moments Q had come to look forward to was when he was James. When he was honest, intimate, open - or, at least, as open as James Bond is capable of. Q hoped he'd at least get to speak with Bond tonight, but he'd take what he could get.

Stepping into the flat, his gaze was immediately drawn to the screen, and he frowned. He hadn't known the previous M that well, but she was incredibly intelligent and competent and had clearly shown fondness for Bond, as he had for her. "What's this, then?" he asked, nodding in the direction of the screen.

“A mission,” he responded, eyes still locked on the screen. While Mallory – it was still with some difficulty that he even managed to call him M in public – may believe he was in control currently, James’ loyalty ran far deeper with the previous incarnation of the role. The guilt he felt for her death was still heavy and looming, even more so with this final order laid out for him. He would see it through regardless of the challenges: M had earned that and more from him during their long tenure together. 

Turning the puzzle pieces over in his head, James was silent for a moment longer before his eyes moved off the screen to study Q. “You’ll be of use,” he added then, as though receiving Q’s help wasn’t even a question. 

"I appreciate the notion that I'm just as much a tool as the equipment I provide for you, 007, I really do," Q quipped in response. He could tell that Bond was feeling guilty for the death of the previous M, and from what he knew of the circumstances he understood why. Still, he didn't appreciate the assumption. "What is this about, really? You can't very well expect me to defy M and the rest of MI6 with so little information."

Though their history was… complicated, to say the least, James trusted Q. May have found his youth disconcerting at first, but he had proven himself skilled in ways James couldn’t even begin to fathom. And beyond that, he had proven himself loyal – to country, yes, to MI6, but beyond that as well. 

What they had developed had been unexpected, but never once had Q even suggested he would use the knowledge for his own gain – to control James or otherwise. It had bought him an even deeper sense of trust with the agent, a man who, as a rule, viewed trust as a potential liability, a danger. With that history between them it was easy enough to reach out, press rewind on the remote, and play the video from the beginning. The simplest way to bring him up to date, after all, was just to show him what had sent James off to Mexico to begin with.


	12. Against You

Bond was nothing if not full of caustic wit, so when he didn't reply, Q knew that whatever was going on had taken root in the very core of the agent sitting across from him. There wasn't much that seemed to truly affect 007, but clearly this was one of those rare instances.

The video was short and raised more questions than it answered. Still, at least he knew why Bond was willing to risk so much. "Some holiday, hm?" he replied finally, referencing Bond's own answer to M as to why he was in Mexico in the first place. "Do you plan on extrapolating, or will I have to put the pieces together myself?"

“You’re a smart boy. You do have the pieces,” is the only response he gets. Reaching up, James ran his fingers through his hair, just once, one of the occasional moments he allows proof of his frustration to reach the surface. He doesn’t want to talk about it – he wants to act on it, but he can’t act until he gets help. Something about this, about all of it, sits so profoundly wrong with him that it’s as though it’s making him itch from inside his skin. 

"Even a genius can't read minds," Q replied coldly. It wasn't until he saw Bond's stress reaction that his expression softened. He unfolded his arms and crossed the room, resting his hands on the arms of the chair Bond was sitting in. "Talk to me, James." His voice was quiet, softer than it had been. Q liked to think he had no delusions about his relationship with Bond. He was a womanizer, straight as an arrow unless he was bored, and allergic to commitment. He harbored no belief that he was anything more than a convenience, though Q was growing worse at lying to himself. For good or ill, he had come to care about Bond.

For an instant, Q’s presence was overwhelming, his sudden proximity setting off warning sirens in James’ head. His hand was halfway to his gun before he reined himself in, mentally chiding himself for such an overwrought reaction. “There was nothing of particular note on Sciarra. I studied him for months before Mexico City.” The frustration was still mounting, but he kept it in check better this time, his voice even as he spoke. Not getting to the funeral as M had ordered would mean a dead end. That was an unconscionable thought to James.

When they had their moments when 007 was James instead, Q enjoyed pressing his buttons. But right now, with as tightly as he was wound, it didn't seem to make sense. So he pulled back, recognizing the dismissal in 007's body language as clearly as the code he read every day. "So you have nothing but a name and a location for a funeral. Why even bother returning to London; you had to know M would never allow you to leave after that scene in Mexico."

“I needed help,” with direction, talking about it was easier. He looked Q up and down, breathing even as he worked through just how much he should tell the younger man. “I am receiving some from another quarter, but you will be needed as well.” Remote in hand again, James turned off the television, haunted more than anything else by now at the repeated viewings. “So,” he added then, voice as unruffled as always even in spite of the urgent nature of the request, “I need to get to Rome. Are you going to assist or not?”

Q had always thought of himself as a pragmatic man, unswayed by notions of the heart. But Bond seemed to be his sticking point; it would be dangerous for his job if he agreed, and yet... "...well, the order came from M herself, didn't it?" he replied, saying yes without being blunt enough to actually agree. Bond knew he would have to be discreet, and that his help would be limited given how highly they were all being monitored. "Just keep in mind that we can't afford to destroy a Roman city block in addition to the one in Mexico."

With Q’s first words, a look of honest and unmistakable gratitude flicked through James’ eyes. It was brief, only a moment of emotion showing through before he returned to his laser-like focus on the task at hand, but between the two of them it was enough. “Financially responsible for Rome’s infrastructure now, are we?” he replied sardonically, a trace of the usual laconic wit making itself known. With Q on board it felt like he could breathe easier, that getting out from under Mallory’s thumb wouldn’t be such an insurmountable challenge. 

"More than you would care to know, Bond," Q replied, grateful to hear 007 sounding a little more like himself. Clearly this task was taking a toll on him. Q found himself wanting to coax more out of him - sometimes Bond opened up to him the way he should to the psychologist they kept on staff for evaluations, and Q could tell he felt better for it. He knew that wouldn't be the case tonight, though - not with this task hanging over his head. 

Still, every time he found himself alone with Bond in his flat - or Bond came to his - the professionalism with which they treated each other relaxed to reveal the uncertain intimacy they had grown to share. Q found himself missing that, longing for it in ways he had cautioned himself against - 'Remember, this is 007 tonight, not Bond. Certainly not James.' - but the feeling was already there. Like a virus that had gotten past a shoddy firewall. 

The simile made him cringe. "I'll do what I can, just don't forget I have to keep up appearances. It won't do either of us any good to have M restrict me as well."

That earned Q another quicksilver smile, the corners of James’ mouth quirking up just for a moment, “I am sure you’ll find a way, Quartermaster.” The air in the room was cool, brought on by the rainstorm outside, and had it been almost any other night James would have made some quip about certain ways to keep warm. But tonight, with Rome on his mind, there was space for nothing else. 

“After all,” he added then as he rose, intent on making his way to the kitchen and fixing himself a pot of coffee, “it’s what you do.” That was all there was to it – every time James needed something, truly needed something, from Q, he got it. The man may have been young but he was good and he had proven it. James had no doubt he would be able to pull this off as well.

Normally, Bond's reliance on him and belief in him would make Q feel smug, but there was too much wariness for that particular feeling to surface. He turned, watching as Bond walked into the kitchen, and knew for certain this encounter was going to end the way it began; as 007 and Q, planning for the next mission, M sanctioned or not.

"Well then, I suppose I'll let you get your rest. It seems you have a lot of preparing to do." Q had no desire to overstay his welcome, already feeling awkward in trying to reconcile his own wants with what 007 was offering.

James nodded in response, hands busy with the coffee filter as he pressed it into the receptacle. “I will see you at Q-Division tomorrow,” he offered as way of goodbye, mind churning through the next steps in the plan. Now that he knew he would be getting to Rome it was time to get a handle on what he would be doing once he arrived.


	13. You're Weak

Of all the stupid choices he could have made, helping 007 defy M's orders in the middle of all the uncertainty at MI6 was probably right up there with starting this dubious relationship in the first place. Q hated flying. Mostly because he wasn't able to access anything in the air, and he hated taking down notes on paper because it was just more work for him to transcribe later. The flight to Austria wasn't as short as he would have liked, and Q found himself irritated that Bond had gotten so off course; at least Rome was warm. The Austrian Alps during this time of year did not hold that same promise.

He had kept his promise to keep M in the dark with the Smart Blood tracking system, but Q had never said he wouldn't be tracking Bond personally. His impatience only grew after the plane landed - it was another two hour drive to wherever it was Bond was currently, and that was if the insufferable man could manage to stay in one place that long, which he doubted. 

When he was finally able to catch up to James, it was at a psychiatrist's office, which he would have immediately made a joke of if the situation wasn't so dire. "I don't think you'll be finding any vodka martinis here, Bond."

The sound of someone addressing him in such a familiar way, here of all places, almost caught him off guard, though what really did so was the timbre of the voice doing so. “Q?” he inquired as he turned to see exactly what he anticipated, the young man hovering behind his shoulder, “yes, unfortunate, that.” Had he been anyone else, wonder at this turn of events would have suffused his words. The quartermaster was an office monkey, he belonged behind his desk in too sharp lighting, tinkering with something or on that infernally insufferable laptop of his; certainly not here in the field facing the potential for real danger, “What are you doing here?” 

"Since you've decided to forgo all forms of modern communication, you gave me no choice but to come here in person to remind you that I gave you 48 hours. If you don't come back to London with me, M will be out for blood and it won't just be yours," Q explained impatiently.

The look James shoots Q is impassive – it’s clear any lecture Q is about to deliver would have more effect if directed toward a brick wall. “New intel, Q,” he offers, only the slightest tilt of his head acting as something of an apology, “I’m going to need more than 48 hours.” Hearing a sound over his shoulder, James turns to look and shakes his head, waving the bartender away with a sour thought on how this monstrosity didn’t deserve to even be called a bar.

"James," Q began, reaching out and closing a hand over the other man's arm, demanding his attention both with his touch and the use of his first name. "Need I remind you that I can't help you if M interferes?" He tried to keep his tone professional, a simple reminder that Q's help was important and that he could not be so easily shrugged off, but there was an undeniable edge of concern in his voice as well.

It’s the touch, more than his first name, that pulls his attention back around. Many people – lovers and enemies alike – enjoyed the sound of his name on their lips. Not as many had the temerity to touch him so easily and yet so intimately. “You got me to Rome, Q,” he responded then, voice perhaps a bit softer than usual, “that was what I needed. Tell M I decided to go rogue whether or not he could track me.” 

"We need you back in London. I don't like what C has planned, and if you go down I'll go down with you no matter what I tell M." There was a hint of pleading as he spoke, now, but only because Q could see already there would be no talking Bond out of this. Whatever he had planned, he was going to see it through. Before he could say much else, Q became aware of the security guards flanking them, and he frowned, pulling away. Even if 007 would be open to convincing, they certainly wouldn't have the time to do it now.

Q’s second plea had washed over him in a mildly incomprehensible wave, sound dampened as James watched the guards creep up on them through the reflection in the glass. He also knew the moment Q realized they were in danger – the man’s eyes grew almost comically wide for a moment and had it been a different situation it would have made him laugh. As it was there was no time. 

Reaching out quickly, James pressed something into Q’s hand, ridged and solid, “Find out what you can.” His focus intent, James paused for a moment longer, allowing the guards to get just within striking range before shoving Q back with a growled order, voice demanding obedience, “Get out.” He turned so quickly, so gracefully it almost looked choreographed and before anyone could even blink, one of the guards was on the ground. James only hoped Q’s wits were enough to get him out of his situation alive. 

"I really hate you right now," Q replied under his breath as his fingers closed around the ring. He was caught off guard when Bond pushed him back - as far as he could tell the security guards weren't much of a threat, but then again he wasn't the field agent. Regaining his balance, Q caught Bond's eye. "The Tyrolerhof. Room 12." There wasn't time to say anything else with Bond otherwise occupied, so Q retreated before the guards decided he was interesting enough to follow.


	14. Broken In A Motel

Though rescuing Madeline hadn’t been part of his intended plans for the day, it did serve the rather nice purpose of convincing her to listen to him. She’d been hard headed but then again, so was James. It was nice to have someone else break through to her for him. Though he hadn’t responded James had heard Q loud and clear and, therefore, turned up at his door later that evening. With a sharp knock he announced himself, keeping a wary eye on the hallway around them. He wanted Madeline inside, where she would be safer.

After his own chase earlier that day, Q was careful - he didn't unlock the door before checking to make sure it was Bond, and then he couldn't open it fast enough. He didn't think of himself as a man who scared easily, but it was hard not to feel safer with a 00 agent at your side. The woman was unexpected, though. Bond introduced them briefly, and it was all Q could do to acknowledge her before urging Bond to the desk where his laptop sat. "Bond, we need to talk. Alone." He glanced at Madeline, knowing better than to discuss a mission with someone else nearby.

Upon seeing Q whole and unharmed in the hotel room doorway, James felt a clench of tension in his chest release. He was foolish, stupid for having come into the field with no appropriate training and James could only be glad he appeared to be unharmed. There would be a lecture of his own coming about how valuable an asset he was to MI6 and how many people in the world would love nothing more than to put a bullet through his brain if given half the chance. 

But now wasn’t the time, not with Madeline at his elbow and new information regarding the mission to be shared. Shaking his head as he began to review the computer screen in front of him, James responded in as few words as he could muster – he needed to know what Q knew, “She’s part of it all.” That tone was in his voice again, the one that booked no argument and demanded obedience, “Go on.”

If Q was taken aback by Bond's insistence at including Madeline in their miniature debrief, he kept it to himself. He revealed what he knew; that Oberhauser was alive and that Sciarra, Silva, all of them were connected. Madeline gave her own explanation and once they had caught each other up it was decided they may as well stay in for the night before they each went their own way in the morning; Q back to London and Bond and Madeline to Tangier. 

Being the gentleman he was, Bond offered to let Madeline have the bed (the fact that this was Q's room seemed to have no effect on the offer). She was clearly wary, but she agreed, and Q heard the lock on the bedroom door click as she turned in for the night. Once they were alone, Q broke the silence. "That didn't take long," he commented dryly. Of course he had a woman with him; Q couldn't fathom why he continued to hope otherwise.

James immediately felt on edge, his defense mechanisms rising before he could even process a thought. “She’s the reason I came here to begin with,” he responded, voice almost curt. Their relationship – his and Q’s – had grown more complicated than he ever wanted it to and though usually it didn’t faze him there were times, like this, that he felt the weight of his wants crash into the weight of his duties. It was unpleasant, to say the least.

"You came out here to attend Sciarra's funeral," Q reminded him, playing off the bitterness in his tone as simple annoyance that Bond had gotten so off course with his original intentions. "How you ended up in Austria is beyond me." It didn't matter, though. He was here, and tomorrow he'd be in Tangier. Even he could see that Madeline was beautiful, and her mistrust would be a challenge for Bond. That, and she was blissfully unaware of who James Bond really was. She embodied the holy trinity, and Q reminded himself again why his relationship with Bond was so unstable.

“Sciarra’s widow,” said James by way of explanation, though he was leaving out a few of the details in between. Now was not the time for the two of them to get into an argument and he could sense the tension brewing under Q’s admittedly already riled features. Stepping in, he closed the distance between the two of them and wrapped a hand around the back of Q’s neck, pulling him in for a crushing, breathtaking kiss. When James finished working him over with tongue and teeth he put distance between them again, veneer as calm as always, “Now go to bed, Q. You can continue to lecture me when I return to London.” 

Q tried to speak - abject horror on his features as the words 'you didn't' got caught on his tongue when Bond's lips found his. That kiss was exactly what he'd wanted, what he'd missed, what he'd thought about for days on end and when it was over the heat that it brought cooled faster than it came. It was an intimate gesture, but the way it was delivered gave him the sense that Bond had only been trying to pacify him rather than due to any deeper connection, and that made it worse. As much as Q had wanted that connection, having it in that way soured it and he scowled. "You gave my bed away. I'm not bloody likely to sleep on the floor," he spat, his face still hot from the kiss even as the icy grip of bitterness closed around him.

James shrugged lightly, nodding his head toward the small sitting area in the corner of the suite, “Make use of the couch.” That said, he turned his back on Q and walked to the bathroom, unbuttoning his shirt and shedding the piece of clothing as he went. There was already a spectacular bruise blooming across his shoulder blades – managing the controlled landing of a destroyed airplane was still getting in a crash, after all. He’d hit the back of his seat brutally on the initial impact, but the sensation barely even registered with him. He wanted a shower, a night cap, and some shut eye, in exactly that order.

Having been thoroughly dismissed, Q had to remind himself they weren't alone. Otherwise there would have been a row. Instead, he turned back to the desk, muttering under his breath. "Bugger your damned couch, 007." Not that it mattered; Bond could have the most selective hearing when he chose, although he hadn't said it loud enough to be heard from the bathroom. Instead he continued his research; angry as he was, Q didn't want Bond to get himself killed.


	15. You Blink

That research, among other things, was one of the deciding factors in James getting through his last mission from M both successful and alive. The trauma he had faced over the last few years – not that he would admit that’s what it was – had taken a toll and the moment he decided not to pull the trigger on Blofeld was a breaking point. When he tossed the gun aside and went to Madeline, it wasn’t with joy in his heart or relief in his chest: rather, it felt a lot like numbness. But, being James Bond, he pushed through and so it was only with a somewhat forced gaiety that he let himself into the offices of Q–Division for one last time a few days later. 

The rest of Q-Division was at headquarters; M needed help as they would be restructuring MI6 back to the way it used to be in the wake of C's betrayal. Q couldn't bring himself to go. He'd told M that if the 00 agents were going to continue as part of MI6, he would need to keep producing as he always had. The sound of the elevator to the basement brought him out of his thoughts, and he looked up, tired and curious. It was most likely one of his underlings with a report or something equally banal. Instead, it was Bond. He could hardly believe what he was seeing; he'd gone off with that woman, Madeline. It was only extreme envy that allowed him to remember her name. "Bond...?" he rose, fighting the hope that blossomed in his chest. "What are you doing here? I thought you'd gone." Internally, he was begging Bond to tell him he'd changed his mind. That he was staying. That he'd just seen Madeline to the airport back to Austria and it was a misunderstanding - he was a gentleman after all. Anything but the truth - anything but what Q feared.

James saw it, saw the moment hope bloomed on Q’s face, heard in in the timber of his voice, and it made the lighthearted tone of his request all that much harder to maintain. “I have,” he commented then, wanting to erase that hope as soon as possible, crush it before it can take root any deeper in Q’s chest, “there’s just one thing I need.”

It was difficult to swallow around the words, but Q made himself smile. He felt how wrong it was, and knew how he must look, and he wiped the palms of his hands on his pants. It was too much to ask, of course. Bond had the holy trinity waiting for him, and what was he? Just a young, foolish scientist who deluded himself into thinking he could change a man who loved women and hated commitment in equal measure. "You're in luck," Q replied thickly, nearly certain he knew what Bond was after. "It's just been finished."

That brought the first genuine smile to James’ face he could remember in weeks. If there was one thing he loved without measure, it was his Aston Martin. He felt in control behind the wheel, one with a machine that seemed as though it could respond to his very thoughts. In Q’s cars, he actually felt safer than anywhere else in the world. “Perfect,” his tone was grateful and honest, “you always do come through in a pinch, Q.”

"That's what I'm here for, isn't it? A pinch?" Q replied, keeping his expression cordial even as his tone turned acidic. He was a convenience in all ways; fixing what Bond broke, keeping him safe, stroking his ego, and warming his bed. There were moments when Q hoped it was more than that. Bond had a difficult profession; he'd lost friends and lovers, anyone he cared about was a liability. He understood the psychology but the practicality of it all still made his chest feel empty. "I do hope you'll take better care of this than anything else I've given you." His tone was biting, still, angry at himself almost as much as he was with Bond. Q had given his heart, and the cliche didn't make it any less excruciating. He wondered if Bond would care enough to understand the double meaning.

It wouldn’t take a genius to notice the acid in Q’s words, but James chose to just bear the brunt of it rather than outwardly acknowledge it. It was simpler, for both of them, to let Q have his pain and take it out on James, then to part ways and carry on with their individual lives. That was what was going to happen anyway – individual men, leading individual lives, so there was no sense in dredging up buried truth that would make doing so any harder. “I’ll do my best,” was the closest to a promise Q was going to get. He held his hand out then, waiting silently for the keys.

Q hesitated, the silent expectation on Bond's part infuriating him even more. It would be a last chance to touch him, and that would make their parting infinitely harder. Instead he took a step back, gesturing vaguely to a small metal box hanging on the wall. "The keys are in there. Help yourself. I've got work to finish." With that, he turned his back on Bond, his face falling. The effort to keep a neutral expression was staggering and he braced himself against his desk for a moment, clamping his jaw shut and taking several breaths through his nose until he could be reasonably sure his breathing would be even.

Without a word James stepped forward and did as he was told. This parting hurt worse than he had anticipated and to be quite frank, he had anticipated it hurting more so than most. It needed to be over. With that thought in mind he snagged the keys and headed for the garage bay, doing his best to focus on the task at hand and not the clearly wounded, clearly angry man barely an arm’s length away. His breathing didn’t come easier until he’d reached the door and put a physical wall between the two of them and the clenching sensation of pain in his chest didn’t relax until he slid behind the wheel. As he drove away from Q-Division James took a breath and steeled himself – this was better, for both of them.

It wasn't until Bond had gone that Q realized he hadn't heard one way or another if this was meant to be his final act as an MI6 operative. Something about it just felt so final, an unspoken promise that this was the last they'd see of each other. Q knew James had tried to leave before - always with a woman he had no reason to give so much to. When all was said and done, he'd known Madeline for probably a week. It was so easy for him to go away with her, someone he barely knew. But with him - a man who knew more about him than any fling ever could - James couldn't give more than a passing glance. Q didn't realize he was shaking until his palms slid off the edge of the desk, and it was a downward spiral from there.


	16. Down, Down, Down

At the end of the day, James was surprised he managed to last as long as he did. It had been fine, at first. The initial few weeks with Madeline hadn’t been easy, but the numbness had eased some. She had no idea of the tribulations occurring behind his seemingly easy gazes and wry smiles. She was there in the morning with breakfast or, if she was feeling mischievous, a blow job. She was there in the afternoons, with a happy smile and a witty comment. She was there in the evening, her slender, thin fingers working some clump of too tight muscle loose in his shoulders after they’d eaten, and she was there at night, willing and eager to spread her legs for whatever he fancied doing to her. 

It was… nice, but it wasn’t enough. He had picked up on that a few months in, when the numbness had given away to frustrated lethargy. When all the days began to blur together and he almost felt sea-sick, lost in this pedestrian world of trivial concerns he truly had no place in. Four months had passed and the anger began to bloom, born of restless helplessness, a sense that he was useless here and any skill he had was withering away. Madeline was a country club kind of girl, a princess in public and an attempted bad girl in bed. But she wasn’t real, not in the way he needed, wanted. 

James needed someone who saw more, saw beyond their simple, easy life and into the dark underbelly of human existence. He needed someone who challenged him, who kept him on his toes, who understood the world as he understood it. Madeline had lived through a terrible thing, but she had managed to write it off as an unusual situation, one with only a million to one chance of happening to anyone. That kind of thing didn’t register in her mind as the true way of the world, but it was still his. 

It was one night almost seven months in that finally undid him. As her slender hands worked through the same stubborn patch of muscle on the back of his shoulders they always fought with she slipped one around to the front, letting her delicate fingers splay out over his chest. As he looked down it was almost an out of body experience – someone else’s hand, in someone else’s room. A man’s hand, but just as delicate, a voice whispering platitudes, but platitudes that understood his reality. 

So it was with great difficulty that he got through the rest of the night, bedding her as she expected before slipping from their room once he was certain she was asleep. Cell phone in hand, James made his way to the empty terrace at the front of the home before dialing, knowing the recipient of the call would recognize his number and finding himself desperately hoping he would pick up.

The first month was the most difficult. For a time, Q had been able to convince himself that Bond was simply on holiday. He'd been known to go on long stretches of work and then return and recuperate in the most hedonistic way he could think of. Q would imagine he was relaxing somewhere on a beach or some other form of paradise and that he would return soon, prowling through his creations until he found the ones that suited him best and Q could catalog all the things that would need to be re-made.

But when the first month bled into the second, the illusion was more difficult to keep up. Though he would go long stretches without Bond, the promise was always there. That he would return from holiday or from a mission and find his way into Q's flat. Though he wasn't a field agent, Q and Bond had an understanding. Being such a high ranking member of MI6, Q had access to Bond's records, knew more about the man than he would ever share. It lead to a mutual understanding of each other, of their views on the world - Bond didn't have to discuss the details for Q to understand him, which just made their encounters all the more poignant. So Q thought, anyway.

The third month was dreary. Q became lonely in a way he'd never felt before. He was accustomed to being alone, and was more satisfied with his gadgets and his computer than he was with another person, but being with Bond changed him. His bed felt too big, his house too quiet and empty, and he found himself frequenting bars and going home with men who were a little older, muscular, and in the end, terrible replacements for Bond. 

In the seven months James had been gone, Q tried to solve the puzzle. Why had he come to rely on his presence so heavily? Why did he miss him so damnably much? He was just a man, like any other. A man who complimented his wit. A man who appreciated his intelligence enough to risk his life trusting it. A man who saw the world through the same lens. A man who thrilled him, excited him, gave him the feeling of danger all the while keeping him safe. A man who could still be tender nonetheless. A man who he loved, in spite of everything Q tried to prevent it. And he was gone, as simply as that. All because it was easier to be with a woman who would never know him than to face who he was.

After seven months, Q grew accustomed to his loneliness. The men at the bars were less frequent, now. He allowed work to consume him once again, and found that his profession was the only thing he would ever need for true fulfillment. Or so he told himself. 

When the phone rang that March evening, it was during a particularly difficult series of equations Q had been working on for nearly a week. Distracted as he was, he didn't bother checking the number. He merely answered the phone and barked an impatient, "Q" into the receiver, hoping that being short would instill a sense of urgency into whomever was on the other line so that he could get back to work.

Though it was only a simple word – not even, really, just a letter – the clipped tone of Q’s voice washed through him in a way that felt a lot like belonging. It took a moment for him to form any words – probably long enough to irritate the man on the other end of the line, but when he finally did speak it was without the usual filters and walls he used to keep everyone away, “I don’t belong here, Q.”


	17. Live, Breathe, Give

How long had it been since he stopped wishing he would hear Bond's voice again? Probably not that long, really. It seemed to depend on his mood. It took him a moment to shut down the mechanical part of his brain in order to form a response, looking down at the phone. "...James?" The shock of the call kept Q from filtering out the longing in his voice, and he said his name like a benediction. Damn Bond for filling him with these trite thoughts.

“Q,” he responded in turn. Satisfied that they were now well aware of one another’s names James carried on, exhaustion far beyond the physical muddling his thoughts, “I need a mission.” God, the younger man had said all of two words and it was already enough to set his chest to aching. He had a bad habit, James knew he did, of always having planned on running off with some beautiful, talented woman and reclaiming his life. But he hadn’t fully realized the extent to which actually leaving MI6 would change how he viewed himself. He hated it, and through that, hated Madeline. 

She’d done nothing to deserve it. Nothing to deserve the anger running hot through his veins, the need to be and do more. But that was the point things had come to. He had to get out, back to the job he knew and the places he belonged. He needed help to get his head screwed on straight again. He only hoped that Q would be willing to provide it.

Clenching his jaw in remembrance of the profound pain he'd been through he's past seven months, Q's voice found that bitter quality it had during the last conversation between the two of them. "If it's a mission you're looking for, 007, I'm afraid you have the wrong number. You can ring M any time you'd like." He didn't want to talk to Bond about work. But that's what it came down to; either they were fucking or talking about work and there would never be any in between. That's what the Madeleines of the world were for.

The shut down came as expected, but that didn’t stop it from hurting. Sick with impotent frustrating and longing, James did something rare for him and just decided to go with blunt honesty, “Be pissed at me, Q. Be as angry as you want. I deserve that. But,” his voice broke then, wavering on the next word in spite of how hard he tried to keep it steady, “don’t shut me out.”

"Don't shut you out?" Q laughed, the sound humorless and sour. "I'm sorry, Bond, I completely forgot I was the one who left for seven months without a proper goodbye. I do apologize, and I hope you can forgive me for the weeks of torment I put you through while I was bedding some nameless blonde tart I hardly know. It must be hard for you, the way I completely ignore the intimacy between us. Do you find it in your heart to forgive me?" The tirade was rather more than he anticipated, but there it was. Q hadn't exactly admitted he was in love with Bond and that he'd broken his heart, but the other man was good enough at reading between the lines to get the message.

“Are you finished?” came the quiet response, though there was no sarcasm to it. James was ensuring that Q had managed to get it all out, at least for the time being. The words burned but it was good, in a way, to feel something other than bereft. Had he allowed himself time to actually reflect on their interactions he would have admitted to himself long ago that there was more between them than tacit understanding and complicated sex. But admitting to it at the time would have made everything worse. Admitting to it now, well… who knew what that would bring about?

"I don't know, James, should I be!?" If the interaction left Bond feeling something other than bereft, it was beyond Q. That was all he could feel. Bond ran off with a woman he hardly knew and then got bored and came back, asking for another distraction. Q was tired of that, tired of being the distraction, but explaining that would mean explaining in detail how he'd come to feel and he already felt like a fool. "I have nothing for you, James. You've used me all up. If a mission is what you want, wait for the morning and call M."

As understanding as he was of Q’s perspective, James couldn’t help the frustrating rising yet again and making him hot under the collar, “Need I remind you, Quartermaster, that I never promised you anything and gave what I could.” A fight was not what he had been after on this call but at this point anything that kept Q talking was better than going back to the bed and the woman that didn’t fit him. “I did not use you all up,” he quoted, condescension creeping into his tone, “if you let that happen you did it on your own.”

The worst thing about the whole situation was that James was right. He had never promised anything. They slept together, but those nights were about sex, not about a deeper connection. That had been in Q's own mind. He fell in love with James, but that didn't mean it was Bond's responsibility. It only served to make him angrier, more bereft. "That doesn't change anything, 007." Q refused any form of familiarity. "If your affair bores you, I'm not the person in charge of MI6. I'm just a tool. Get back in bed with your blonde little tart and enjoy your holiday or come back to London and speak to M."

James didn’t want to speak with M. Or Moneypenny, or Tanner, or anyone at all other than Q. He wanted to hear that clipped, cool and confident air Q affected as par the course, wanted to know that he had the younger man’s full and undivided attention. If a fight was what Q wanted, a fight was what he would get. Anything to keep him talking, “I’ve never know you to be so unnecessarily petty, Q. Madeline hasn’t done anything to deserve your scorn.” James knew defending her was both hypocritical of him and certain to push Q’s buttons even further. The latter is probably why he chose to do it anyway.

He'd hang up if he hadn't missed Bond's voice so damn much. "It isn't Madeline my scorn is directed at," he gritted out against his better judgement. Bond would deserve it if he hung up. Let him be the one waiting for seven months. But that would mean he'd be without him for 14 months and this he at least had a say in. "I don't know what you want from me, 007. You know I have no missions to give. And I don't know where you are, but it's bloody late here and I do plan on sleeping. Goodnight." Q's finger hovered over the 'end call' button, knowing he should just end it but at the same time wanting to hear James beg. It wouldn't come to that, he knew, but he wanted it nonetheless.

James weighed his options quickly and probably with less care than he should have before throwing in one last phrase, refusing to beg but open to other forms of persuasion. “Then order me back, Q,” his voice was even as he spoke, the anger quenched in place of desperate, reckless hope that James knew he didn’t really deserve. But he wanted, so badly, to be somewhat more than he is currently and without Q’s help, he has no idea how to get there. Just going back to London, to M and briefs and debriefs and wins and losses, while it would fill part of the void it wouldn’t be enough. If he couldn’t fill it entirely, he certainly wasn’t going to return to the place that would put him within arm’s length of an unattainable goal.

Q hovered as he was, phone on speaker on his desk, finger hovering over 'end call' for several moments that turned into several minutes. Bond was being stubborn as usual - he knew the call hadn't disconnected and was waiting for a reply. It wasn't that Q didn't know what to say - it's that he didn't know where to start. There was too much unsaid between them and it would take too long to unwind right now. Finally, the anger seeping out of him in place of exhaustion, Q breathed out. "What do you want from me, James?"

As the silence stretched out long and taut between them, James let his gaze wander even as his mind stayed laser focused on the sound of Q’s breathing. The dark of night would have been calming to anyone else. There was only the rustle of a light wind through the hedges and the occasional soft chirrup of a cricket to keep him company. The other inhabitants of this godforsaken gated community would have called it “peaceful” or “reflective” or some other equally bullshit platitude, though truth be told they would never be up this late, busy as they were sleeping off repetitive evening after evening of overindulgent drinking. 

James, on the other hand, was hyper aware. His auditory senses blocked out everything except the sound of Q’s impatient resentment of his call and his request. But the other four were busy without any conscious thought on his part, sweeping the empty street for suspicious parked cars, nose to the air for the scent of gunpowder, fingers and toes already attuned to the surfaces they touched, knowing without thinking the best way to navigate them depending on potential need. It was impossible to quit being a spy, even when he had truly tried to do just that. 

When Q finally spoke James’ mouth went dry and he found himself disappointed in the lack of something hard to drink. It was an opening, one he hadn’t been entirely certain he would get tonight. Reckless honesty had gotten him this far, so he decided to keep it going. “Your forgiveness, Q” he answered then, voice uncharacteristically open, “though I know I don’t deserve to ask.”

"You don't," Q agreed immediately, but as angry as he was, he wasn't likely to turn down such an open request from Bond. Not after pining after him for seven months. He finally admitted to himself that's what he'd been doing; pining and trying to find a way to replace what had been lost. He should never have fallen in love with a co-worker, let alone a double-oh. Let alone James Bond. But here he was. "That isn't enough. Tell me what you want from me. You'll come back here and then what? You're always going from one person to the next, moving on when you get bored or they get too close. I can never tell which category I fall into."


	18. Tell Me Why

Q paused then, toying with his next words like a cat with a mouse before he finally spoke again, effectively cutting off any response Bond might have had. "I got bored and wrote an algorithm. Based on your history, your preferences, taking into account my position as your co-worker, things like that. I wondered what the likelihood even was of something between us working out. Depending on the data input, it averaged around 15%, though at its lowest point it was only 6%." He laughed then, the sound humorless and bitter. He sounded pathetic, exactly like the mooning teenager Bond had always made him out to be. "I'm tired of being strung along. I know the chances, Bond. And it's my fault. I can't expect you to change."

Q realized he was rambling, but he hoped that his words made some sort of sense. He hadn't given anything resembling an answer but he didn't know what else to say. He was heartbroken and was 85% certain he would end up heartbroken all over again if Bond came back. "I just... what do you want from me, James?" He could feel the pent up emotions from the last seven months leaving him in a rush; later, Q could blame his irrationality on that and the late hour. 

“You are-“ but Q was quick and James fell silent as the younger man railroaded through his intended response. He listened, mouth falling open to hang slack jawed as Q kept talking, confusion written on his features. If anyone had seen him it probably would have been comical. “You… what?” he finally managed, when he was able to get a word in edgewise. Something about the idea of that, of Q reducing him to ones and zeros, set him on edge and brought that familiar sense of anger bubbling to the surface.

“I’m not a computer, Q,” his tone was biting and he worried absently at an old scar on his wrist as he spoke, running the blunt end of a nail along it, “you can’t just feed me into a fucking algorithm and make like that’s the end all be all.” He was hurt by the idea and it surprised him, the force of it. What he wanted… the answer came so easily when he thought of it. His old life back, unburdened by Vesper, filled with Q and the thrill of the field. But the words caught in his throat, hindered by Q’s reveal. Was that really all he was to the other man, something that could be so easily changed into nothing but a data stream? 

"I bloody well know that, Bond, I've seen my algorithms fail enough times to know that the practical application doesn't always match up," Q remarked. His previous weariness that allowed such a slip up in his behavior in the first place snapped just as quickly back into justified anger and he regretted not hanging up sooner. He wasn't going to ask a third time what Bond wanted from him; he'd already been pathetic enough for one night. If he really wanted to come back, he would. For now, he'd had enough. There was nothing that had been said tonight that made him think he was wrong in believing he was only a distraction until the next woman came along. 

The thing with the algorithm had been done out of boredom and sheer loneliness, but he'd be damned if he was going to admit that now. He needed something to make him feel less inadequate; if the math worked out to show they didn't have a chance in the first place, at least he could find some comfort in it. Not that Bond would understand that with that woman keeping him company.

Well, that was something then. The admittance that his precious technology didn’t always work as intended was a desperately needed foothold, something James could cling to in the hopes there was still some kind of chance for the two of them. It helped shape his anger into something a little less vicious and opened up space for one last shot at vulnerability. “I want you,” he responded then, the timbre of his voice heavy with everything that meant, everything he was incapable of putting into words. 

“Not her, not any of them,” though when he first spoke he thought he was referring to the others he slept with, on reflection James wasn’t so sure. There were many people that acted as a placeholder for something else in his mind – M represented MI6, Madeline the gentle and easy future he thought he had wanted, Vesper cruel shorthand for the misbegotten belief he could have been a good man. 

He would give all of them and the thing they represented up, if only it meant he could have Q instead. Q, who should have just been a placeholder for Q-Division. Q, who was anything but. He was one of the only real, living, breathing, three dimensional people James had in his life, one of the only people whose presence he felt as though it had its own gravity capable of pulling him in and ensnaring him. But, again, those words failed him and all he could offer was the same weak phrase as before and pray it would be enough, “I want you.”

Q's emotions had flitted back and forth so many times tonight that he was feeling dizzy. He exhaled sharply and pulled off his glasses, rubbing at his eyes and curling his fingers in his hair, fingertips pressing hard against his scalp as though he could keep himself together physically if only he held on hard enough. On some level, Q knew that James didn't say things like this, didn't make promises, didn't let himself feel. His job was dangerous and so, too, were his feelings; Vesper was proof enough of that. But it still didn't stop the shadow of doubt that cast itself over any hope he could manage to feel at the words Bond said. 

"Surely you can't blame me for doubting that, Bond. Maybe you want me, now that you're bored with Madeline, but how long before I grow boring too?" The words had lost their biting edge and teetered right on the edge of sorrowful. Q had lived in the hollow place between being Bond's lover and simply his co-worker for long enough. Long enough that he knew he couldn't do it anymore. Long enough to fall in love. That was a failing on his part, and as he said, he couldn't expect Bond to change for him. Not with all the baggage he carried. 

Had he been anyone else his voice would have broken on his next words, though coming from his mouth James managed to make then sound deadpan, matter of fact, “No, I can’t blame you at all.” That was the truth of it, wasn’t it? Q had every right to believe, as he had stated, that James was just bored and anxious and in need of some new thrill to keep his high. He had no real reason to believe that James could breathe easier around him, had started to feel human again in his presence, had begun to believe that maybe healing was actually possible for him. 

Q had no reason to believe any of that and that was entirely James’ fault. He had never grown bored with Q but he had never been brave enough to tell him that either. His Quartermaster seemed so good, so very good, and James was beyond hesitant to involve himself any deeper and ruin that. Part of his job was protecting people. Usually people he didn’t know from an outside threat, but still, protecting people. But with Q it was personal – Q had to be protected from one of the most destructive forces of all – James himself. And James tried so very, very hard to ensure that he did his job properly. 

Too properly, it seemed. And here he was, playing the fool, desperate and allowing himself to hurt Q even further. He was a terrible person, proof of that was never hard to find. He had to swallow hard, the sound probably audible over the phone before he spoke. If there was defeat in his voice James didn’t have the fortitude to disguise it, “You should hang up, Q. You’re right. I shouldn’t have woken you.”

James had sounded so vulnerable before, so achingly human, that the detachment in his words jolted Q to his core. They weren't standing on the cusp of something honest anymore, and anything real between them opened up like a chasm, bleak and infinite. Maybe he should have shown a little more trust, but after having been cast aside so many times, Q thought it was time that James put a little trust in him. At least enough to give him the truth. To make him believe the words were true, that the connection he felt wasn't imagined. But it had been too much to ask. 

His vision narrowed to a pinprick before his gaze slid out of focus, the light from his phone blurring its outline around the edges, and Q couldn't tell if it was because his eyes had watered or if his brain was too busy processing for his eyes to function properly. James was not the type of man who gave up, but it seemed tonight all it took was a simple entreaty for the truth. If he wasn't even worth that, then what good was it to keep trying? Q wanted to say something more, to press Bond into giving him some measure of peace, tell him something that he wanted to hear, but the words wouldn't come to him. Somehow, this felt more final than his departure seven months ago.

To prevent himself from making a fool of himself any further, Q finally tapped the end call button. The silence was, somehow, absurdly loud, and the ache in his chest burst open anew. Q found himself wishing he was the kind of man who could find comfort in alcohol because he needed something to dull the pain.


	19. Always Feel Alone

That was the last night James Bond could be reached at that particular number. The garage to the ostentatious manor home he shared with Madeline had quiet the array of equipment inside, certainly a saw or two he could have used to dismantle his phone, but he went about it the simplest way he knew how. Three gunshots, diagonal from top left to bottom right, sending shrapnel flying and embedding hot chunks of metal in the floor. Madeline would be angry about the scratches on her Mercedes, but James couldn’t find it in himself to care. About that, about anything. The gunshots would have woken her up, he was certain, her and probably quite a few of the surrounding neighbors. Those that had slept off enough of their drunken stupor, anyway. 

Without giving it much thought he climbed into his Aston and took off, nothing but his gun, his wallet, and the clothing on his back as company. Who cared? She could have everything else, it was the least he could do for leaving her in the middle of the night with a gunshot scare to boot. Private work it was then, plying his trade for some overblown oil baron from the Middle East who probably did deserve a bullet between the eyes. 

Or maybe he’d wind up in Asia, pretending to be just communist enough to find work in China. Wherever he went, it was going to be somewhere far away and without strong ties to England. It was better that way. He kept repeating it in his head, a steady refrain, as though that would be enough to convince him it was true. It was better that way. Alone and unattached, selling himself to the highest bidder. He whored himself out for England before, why not whore himself out for what little personal gain remained to be had now? At least that way he could ensure he died in the field, instead of old, broken, and pathetically alone.

Q didn't sleep that night. Or any night, really, for the rest of that week. He knew where Bond had gotten off to, of course, but actually monitoring him was too sweet a torture to endure. But when one week turned into two his curiosity had gotten the better of him. What had Bond done after he'd ended the call? The security cameras told as much of the story as he needed to know. Bond, on the terrace, lips forming words Q could quote by heart. The camera wasn't close enough to show his face, and the angle of his body would be difficult to read, anyway. Bond disappearing into the house, the Aston Martin leaving the garage minutes later. It hadn't returned. 

His self-loathing reached a boiling point after that. Why couldn't he have just told James to come back and waited to have it out with him in person? At least then he'd have been less likely to disappear. Maybe he would have even gotten his answer, too, and all the reassurances Bond's silver tongue could muster. But no. Q had been petty, and his only opportunity had booked a flight to Thailand and had been impossible to track after that. 

Q could see, now, why James had been turned inside out after Vesper's betrayal. By his own admission, she'd been the only woman he'd ever loved. And he lost her. While Q couldn't say that Bond had betrayed him, it was the same kind of loss. The vow to swear off any form of attachment, romantic or otherwise, was as understandable as it was appealing. Strange, he thought, how he had learned about Bond's suffering from the man himself. Stranger still, that he'd brought it on himself. 

After a month, Q stopped trying to find him.

It took a few false starts to find the right place, but five months in James found himself if not happy at least mildly content in his new job. A year ago – Had it really only been a year ago? – his new boss was the kind of target he may have been sent to assassinate, but now the man was merely a means to an end, the job risky enough to keep him on his toes. He liked that, needed it. It kept him from thinking too much on anything personal. 

He wasn’t overly fond of the desert heat but had adapted soon enough. His fellow body guards, local Saudis who had decided to trust him only after he beat one of their number to a bloody pulp in a show of strength, had shown him the best way to drape himself in the loose flowing garments they favored. While he found them restrictive, dangerous in that they would be easy to get a grip on and use as leverage, he wore them to avoid standing out. 

The one thing he could never bring himself to do was cover his face. While most of them used a scrap of cloth to cover their noses and mouths from the dust and the sun he found it too cumbersome, almost like it was smothering him. He probably should have, but there were plenty of things he should have done that he never did. 

As evening fell on another empty, eventless day, James cast a glance around the room and frowned at what he saw. These men were highly trained but they were foolish, too at ease because their master was home and they felt safe in the compound. Something – sixth sense, intuition, call it what you will – swept a chill down the length of his spine and he turned, casting a trained glance out the window. Though nothing but silent, empty space greeted him through the frame he just knew something was out of place. 

Keeping focus he stared, searching every quadrant, until finally he found proof of his concern – the barest glint of sunlight, reflecting off a surface that should have absorbed it. James knew immediately what it was without even having to think about it. The barrel of a rifle must be hidden just out of sight. As he had thought, a year ago it may have been him wielding it. 

With a commanding shout James threw himself forward, slamming into the Saudi prince and taking him to the ground just as the whistling ping of a bullet passing through glass echoed through the room. As the bullet dug a harmless furrow into the wall behind them both James cursed, knowing they were still too exposed here. It was with a snarled order to the other men that they formed a protective barrier around their charge and led him out into the hall, away from prying eyes and further gunshots. 

'Damn it! Well, that'll make this interesting, at least. You have eyes in the building yet, Q?' 003's voice in his ear was just barely audible over the ringing that could have been one of Notre Dame's bells for as loud as it was. His fingers were still moving, though they were slow and clumsy over the keys, but Q had mentally blacked out the moment he caught the face of the man who had protected the target at the last moment. How in the hell did he get here from Thailand...? There was the sound of something scratching against the microphone, and it jolted Q back into his body. "Right. It's a fairly straightforward layout, 003, but there is little cover on the other side. You'll need to take him down inside otherwise you'll be exposed. There's a van waiting for them already." 

It wasn't as difficult as it should have been, directing 003 through the building as he had done almost every day for the past year for him and seven other double-oh operatives. He was hoping he was wrong. Q was an atheist through and through, but he almost caught himself praying that he wasn't about to direct his agent to kill Bond while he watched. The alternative was no less appealing, that his agent would be the casualty, but Q didn't believe that karma or fate or whatever it was that ran the world would be kind enough to let them both live. Adrenaline kept him focused as he called out directions and warnings, eyes flitting across his double screens and fingers no longer stumbling across the keys as he kept up with the target through the cameras. 

Whether it could be called fortunate or unfortunate depended upon ones point of view, but the large group of men protecting their charge could not move as quickly as one man acting alone. 003 caught up to the group and three of them broke off to confront him while the rest kept ushering the Saudi prince on. The agent caught a glimpse of one of his bodyguards, only because he stood out sorely with his fair complexion and uncovered features.

'Bloody hell... is that Bond...?' he wondered aloud before ducking around the corner to avoid having his head taken off. Q visibly flinched but regained his composure. "Focus on not getting yourself killed, yes? They're all carrying semi-automatic weapons, so you'll have to listen to me very carefully..."

003 was more than competent and Q was brilliant as ever. The three guards didn't take long to put down and 003 took one of the guns as he ran by at Q's direction - the one with the most remaining rounds, judging by Q's calculation of the number of bullets it could hold compared to which man was the slowest with his trigger finger. Their target was uncomfortably close to the other end of the building, where more men were waiting in a bullet-proof van and there was sparse cover for his agent.


	20. Too Little, Too Late

Out of the game for a year or not, being a double-oh was encoded into James’ very DNA. He recognized 003 in a heartbeat and instantly everything he knew about the other man was categorized and compartmentalized; his weak points, his strengths, his preference in weapons handling. One of the few things that concerned him was, in fact, the very thing that had pushed him out to Saudi Arabia to begin with. Q didn’t need a year to improve his tech and James wasn’t sure what else 003 had up his sleeve because of that. 

He knew none of the bumbling fools he worked with would be able to take 003 on. He also knew they had families, wives and children who looked up to them and waited for the few nights they could come home. The worst of it all, he knew of something similar for 003 as well – not a wife and children, but a dog and a niece he’d been raising since his sister died. He didn’t want any of them to die tonight. 

So he slowed to a jog, told the others to run ahead as he took cover and waited for 003 to come along. To be safe he took aim and shot out all security cameras within range, certain that, as always, Q would be watching through the systems. 003 didn’t need the added advantage of a seemingly omnipotent eye in the sky along with a year’s worth of advance tech. That done he waited, breathing even and steady as he waited for 003 to make an appearance. This was the quickest – and therefore only – way to the target and he knew without a doubt that the other agent would make an appearance soon.

Q watched Bond break away from the group in what felt like slow motion. He could almost feel their eyes lock as the former 007 looked up at the security camera, knowing he was there, before he took aim and blinded him. Somehow, it felt personal. He swore softly, doing what he could to keep eyes on the target. "003, Bond is waiting for you. I'm blind, he shot out the cameras. There was a stairway to the roof a few meters back, if we're lucky you can make it up there fast enough to take a few shots at the target before he's in the van." He'd be lying if he said he didn't want 003 to avoid Bond. He didn't want to hear either of them die. But the man was stubborn. 'The fastest way is through. I can manage from here. Just don't lose the target.'

Q felt his jaw tighten, teeth grinding together painfully as he sought to keep up with the Saudi. 003 slowed down outside the room Q had warned him about, edging the door open with a toe and waiting for the responding bullet to pass by him. "Lovely to see you again, Bond. Too bad it's not under friendlier circumstances," 003 mused lightly, doing his best to map out the room from the sliver he could safely see. He didn't relish it, but he would kill Bond just as easily as he had the other guards if it came down to it and knew that the former double-oh would do the same.

“003,” came the response, modulated through the long and narrow room until its source seemed directionless, filling the space without giving away anything. James had been working under this particular employ for two months, more than enough time to fully map out every corner of the residence and learn how to use it best for his own purposes. The primary objective for the moment was to get Q’s palm print encoded Walther out of 003’s hands. If there was going to be any hope of getting them both out of here alive they couldn’t get involved in a gun fight. Both of them were too skilled and he was certain a fatal bullet would worm itself inside one of them. 

So hand to hand it was going to be. The other useful thing about having learned the lay of the place was that he also knew this particular room had an alcove above the door, used as an altar in less ignominious times. James had managed to find just enough time to set up a decoy gun that fired when the door opened, the bullet whizzing harmlessly by 003, and then secure himself in the alcove before the double oh walked into the room. He had to admit that while they lacked awareness his new coworkers were mean fighters – he’d managed to pick up a few tricks he was fairly certain would surprise 003 and planned on using those to his advantage. 

The moment 003’s back cleared the doorway, James fell from the alcove like a panther: sleek, silent, and deadly. He collided with the other agent knees first, letting the weight of his body and his momentum drive them both into the ground. In the same motion he reached for the barrel of the other man’s gun, doing his best to pry it loose from his grip in the moment of surprise. 

Q's eyes flickered constantly back and forth between the readout of 003's vitals and the camera feed of the fleeing Saudi's. "003, if you can get around Bond, do not engage him. The Saudi's are very nearly clear of the building," he advised, carefully keeping his voice calm and neutral. He didn't get a verbal reply, only the sound of a bullet zinging past and 003's greeting to Bond. Q's body was rigid as he continued monitoring, feeling useless and blind. 

There were another few moments of silence and the sudden sound of Bond's body colliding into 003's and collapsing onto the ground made him jump with its suddenness. He could hear the sound of his agent grunting in exertion, but the sound of gunshots was blissfully absent. There were a few sickening sounds of solid flesh meeting solid flesh, and Q grimaced; when it came to hand to hand combat, 007 had always, always been the better agent. 003 was somewhat smaller, lighter, clearly the more agile agent. But if Bond had managed to get the drop on him, it was very unlikely 003 would come out on top unless he managed to shoot the former agent.

The scuffle lasted a few more minutes, and Q watched impotently as the Saudi's broke free of the building and piled into the van. They seemed to hesitate for a moment, one of them gesturing back at the building - strange that they should seem concerned for Bond - before another pulled him in the van and they sped off. When the receiver went suspiciously silent, save for the sound of heavy breathing, Q felt his heart in his throat as he looked at the vital readouts again. 003 was still alive, but his breathing was soft, the heavier breathing further away, which told him all he needed to know - his agent had been knocked out, and James was somewhere nearby, breathless from the fight. "003? 003, status report. Can you hear me?" he tried, if only to confirm his suspicions.

James couldn’t manage to suppress the small, satisfied almost smile that touched his lips – he was right, the tricks he learned from the Saudis really had come in handy. Looking down at the unconscious agent at his feet he sprung into further action, gathering up the Walther from where he’d flung it, careful to keep this hand free of the grip. It was quick work to empty the magazine and tuck the weapon into the folds of his robe – one last personal statement to Q, making sure the tech didn’t make it back to England. 

That done he bent down, careful and exacting in his movements as he plucked the nearly invisible communicator from 003’s ear, looping it over his own so he could monitor anything that might come through. Reaching down he grabbed 003 around the waist, hauling the other man’s dead weight up and over his shoulder and moving to the outside wall, pressing open one of the windows and dropping the agent out of it, watching as he landed in an embarrassing heap on the ground outside. Being on the first floor did make some things easier. 

That done, James tossed the Walther’s magazine out the window as well, wanting to make it clear to Q what he’d done. Finally he closed and latched the window, leaving the room and careful to keep quiet as he did. He needed to put distance between himself and 003 before he moved on to the next step he intended. Only when he was clear of the building – helping himself to the underground tunnels that connected the myriad of structures on the complex – did he deign to speak, voice carefully dispassionate as he did, “003 unconscious but otherwise unharmed, south side of the palace, west wing, on the ground outside. Send your extraction team quickly, before someone unfriendly finds him first, Q.”

There was a soft sound of something shifting, and Q furrowed his brow, doing his best to keep an eye on the fleeing Saudis as well as the facility to make sure 003 wouldn't be caught unaware. He had already had one of his minions send the extraction team. He was just about to cut the comm line when he heard a voice that made his heart stop. "Bond wait-" he hoped he could delay the former agent, could get something out of him. If Q knew Bond at all, he knew his next step would be to leave the area as soon as possible. He had regretted their conversation long enough to be desperate to take advantage of this opportunity before he lost him all over again.

Instead of hearing the same steady breathing he had been, the next sound Q heard was not Bond's voice as he'd hoped, but the sound of the mic clattering to the floor. Cutting the comm, Q stood, fingers and eyes flying over the screens in front of him with renewed vigor. He patched himself through to the extraction team. "The facility is empty and 003 is safe. Three of you, track down Bond and detain him. R, keep eyes and ears on the Saudis."


	21. Can't Fight Anymore

With the orders given, Q gathered his laptop, walking and typing at the same time. The rest of his minions looked at him in confusion, but he ignored it. He'd already sent a message to M about what had happened and his plans, and he decided he'd rather not wait for clearance. Better to ask for forgiveness than permission - he could remember Bond saying that exact thing to him on more than one occasion. His flight was booked before he even left MI6, doing his best to keep Bond in his sights and hoping the mix of his eyes and the extraction team on the ground would be enough to pin him down for a while.

James knew the area well – as well as he could for the length of time he’d been working in it, anyway. It allowed him to put considerable distance between himself and the team he knew would be coming for 003. Even though he had hoped – if not expected – it, hearing Q’s soft voice in response to his own growled comment left him with a vicarious hurt, like the sharp prick of a blade through skin, almost sweet for one brief moment before true pain seared through his body.

Dropping the comm was the safest thing he could do. He used the tunnels to full advantage, gaining a half a kilometer on 003’s location before surfacing, careful as he levered himself up into the daylight. During the trek he had rearranged his clothing to pull the fabric up over his face like the others, hopeful that it would accord him even a minutely greater measure of stealth. Finding a vehicle was going to be his next goal and he felt mounting frustration that the only underground tunnel that lead to a garage went to the one that couldn’t be opened without one of the Prince’s keycards. 

As he made his way for the nearest vehicle – a Jeep a few hundred meters in front of him, something that should be easy enough to hotwire, he heard the unwelcome sound of English accents murmuring commands closing in on him. Breaking into a run he made for the Jeep at a blistering pace, unwilling to fall into MI6s hands and desperate to avoid it. 

Q got the confirmation that the extraction team had detained Bond an hour into his flight - it had taken awhile for him to be able to access communications again, but thankfully flights were starting to allow it - and the vice in his chest relaxed somewhat. Bond was detained and 003 was safe, already awake and complaining of a headache. He was resolved to do whatever it took to get James to return to MI6; they could have their argument there. He just hoped he could keep that mindset upon actually seeing the infuriating man his heart still ached for a year later.

The flight was excruciatingly long, and Q ignored the messages from M until the flight landed. He didn't bother calling him, simply responding that 003 was fine, Bond was detained, and he'd be back in 24 hours. The remaining two members of the extraction team met him at the airport; they were out of relative danger, so Q wasn't worried for his safety. He certainly had nothing to fear from James - not physically anyway. 

The team led him to the hotel room they'd been using as a detention facility for Bond and he instructed them to wait outside. The other three who had been in the room with Bond to make sure he didn't execute one of his Houdini-esque escapes stepped out too and as they moved past him, Q took a deep breath and slid inside the room.

The moment his guards had stepped outside the room he was up and at the window, grabbing one of the chairs sat near it and preparing to slam it into the glass. James was intent to try to escape even though he was fairly certain it was a lost cause. He was still James Bond, he didn’t just sit still and wait for things to happen to him, after all. He wasn’t sure what to expect, but whatever happened he knew they weren’t planning on killing him – if that had been the case they would have done it at the compound. 

He was still dressed like a local, though it pissed him off to no end that the extraction team had executed a thorough pat down regardless and stripped him of his weaponry, including 003’s Walther. They had all of it in an attaché case, locked in the possession of the guard outside. It probably meant Q was going to be getting it back. The thought irked him. As glass shattered around him he drove the chair into the hole again to enlarge it, patently focused on the work at hand and ignoring the muffled steps of whoever just entered the room. He didn’t care who it was and if they wanted to restrain him they were welcome to try.

"Really, Bond, what a perfect waste," Q commented blithely, hoping the sound of his voice would catch James off guard enough to stop. He was fairly certain he was employing his usual air of crisp professionalism, but in reality seeing James again had his heart hammering in his chest and his brain a little clouded. It had been over a year, and yet the other man didn't look different at all, except for the clothes he wore. Impossibly, Q found himself missing him even more, even as they were in the same room.

Whatever – whoever – he had been expecting, it certainly wasn’t Q. The rich tenor of his voice whistled through the air like a shot, stopping James cold. What in bloody fucking hell was Q – Q! – doing here? Out of anyone M could have sent, Q? Almost unwilling to face it James had to force himself to turn, coming face to face with the man he had begged for a reason to stay and yet who had only given him reason to go. “Q,” he was pleased when his voice came out as even as always, managing to hide just how affected he was feeling, “leading the extraction teams on the ground now, are you? Q-Division bore you?”

"I should say not. I had a rather vigorous mission I was leading earlier today that kept me somewhat on my toes." This was familiar territory, this back and forth banter in which they said nothing and everything all at once. It made it easier not to fall to pieces. "I thought it was past time I went on holiday. I hear Saudi Arabia is nice this time of year, and as I don't know another living soul in the country to give me advice on how to make the most of my trip, I thought I'd ask you." He paused then, taking another step toward Bond before his curiosity got the better of him. "My first choice for holiday was Thailand, but seeing as how there are no convenient men there to help me out, I'm afraid that made it too bothersome." The conversation seemed banal, but he got his point across; he wanted James to know he'd tracked him to Thailand then lost him. He wanted him to know he'd tried to find him at all.

His jaw was set, clenched too tight, but James couldn’t seem to disengage. It almost bothered him, the idea that Q thought he had any right to keep tabs on him at all. The younger man had been the one to dismiss his plea to return, anyway. “Saudi Arabia is bollocks this time of year, far too hot for someone with your constitution,” he responded, the jab at Q not at all pithy or witty in any way, but James wasn’t feeling much like beating around the bush, “you should have gone to Thailand, I hear monsoon season is something to behold.” He hoped the message was coming in clear – I didn’t ask you to follow me, I don’t want you here.

A flicker of pain swam across Q's face and it was a struggle for him to cover it up. Surely James had seen, but he didn't want to appear any more pathetic than he felt, his words during their last conversation coming back to him unbidden, so he forced his way through it. "So this is what retirement looks like, then?" he asked, looking around the room. James was a man of refined tastes and while he was certain guarding a Prince afforded him some measure of refinement, James' preferences were distinctly European. Q was curious, but he knew he wouldn't get an answer if he asked outright.

James shrugged at that, focusing his gaze on a spot just over Q’s right ear. It was a useful technique he had learned on the ground floor at MI6, long before he was a double oh. With just a touch of distance between them, it would look like he was meeting Q’s eyes. To actually do so right now would be excruciating, the petty banter hard enough, and he had no interest in making things more difficult for himself. “Keeps me busy,” he chose to respond, his tone carefully casual. It was certainly better than wasting away in a country club prison surrounded by imbeciles who had no idea how fucking fantastic their lives were. 

"Busy and sunburned," Q remarked, pointing out that he knew Saudi Arabia was not James' first choice. Still, beating around the bush like they were wasn't going to get anything done. James was angry, clearly, and Q was full of feelings - bitterness, self-loathing, regret, betrayal, the list went on. Abandoning his attempt at normalcy, Q took a few more steps into the room, leaving only a meter between them. He lowered his voice, not too keen on the idea of being overheard by the extraction team. "James..." the name stuck on his tongue, throat suddenly thick, words turning sour as the feelings he tried to keep at bay bubbled into his speech. "If you're going to be doing this kind of work, you'd be of more use to MI6." He was late in saying this, months late, and he shifted to ensure James was truly meeting his gaze. "Come back, James."


	22. It's Hard and It's Dark

At first it felt like the words came at a distance, muffled and muddled as they travelled. Five months ago he had begged for them and found they were withheld. How fucking ridiculous to be hearing them now. But then he heard them come again, a trick played on him by his own mind, and this time they crashed like ringing bells, urgent and cacophonous in his head. How bloody fucking ridiculous. 

A laugh was the first thing that escaped him, harsh and unkind as it left his throat. Then his eyes narrowed, locking onto Q’s as the other man so clearly wished. But there was no kindness in them and the longing was long buried. Anger ran hot in his veins now and it was a mercy, keeping his other feelings at bay, “Fuck MI6. Fuck being of use. And fuck you too, Q.” Anger was safe, it kept him closed off and distant, reduced the chances of something new being able to hurt him, “You’re five months too fucking late.” 

Q swallowed heavily around the self-loathing and regret, the anger, the pain. Instead of backing off he moved forward again. James hid in his anger but he was a stubborn man. He'd been vulnerable that night when he called and all the anger in the world couldn't make the feelings he'd had disappear in such a short time. "Would it make you feel better if you did, James?" He reached up and pulled off his tie, defiantly keeping the other man's gaze in spite of the rage boiling there. "Take your anger out on me." There was a dare in his tone, a recklessness in his expression. Q was not going to back down. He still wanted his answers, his reassurances, but that could come later. All he wanted right now was for James to agree to come back to England.

Whatever he had been expecting – a scathing retort, a haughty and distant look perhaps – Q turning it into something so blatantly sexual had not even come into consideration. It caught him off guard, well and truly, one of the very few times in his life something had actually managed to do so. Unbidden heat ran through his body, eager and wanting, but he tamped down on it hard and dredged up more of the bewildered hurt he had felt at their last conversation, letting it fuel his anger. 

“No,” curt and bordering on cruel, James’s response was firm. He wasn’t going to allow himself to get coerced back to England for… for what, exactly? To grovel and apologize for fouling up their mission? To be throw into a “holding cell” and left to rot? He hadn’t actually broken any laws; legally he was in the clear. He knew that wouldn’t stop MI6 from whatever retribution they may have planned. He tried to convince himself Q was just a non-threatening lure they’d thrown out to convince him otherwise. 

Q felt it was a little easier to breathe when he saw how his comment had gotten through James' defenses. He was angry still, but the feelings were still there no matter how far they were buried. The cruel bitterness returned to his tone, but Q didn't let it dissuade him. "No? But it was your idea, James," he pressed on, moving forward until he was crowding the other man's personal space, within arm's reach but not so close that it would make things completely awkward. "Do it. Then come back with me."

Had he been able to focus on anything but the young man filling his senses, James would have felt the hot desert wind at his back, have been reminded that he’d opened a space to escape, and he probably would have made use of it. But with Q so damnably close, so damnably stubborn, his vivid green eyes weren’t something James could tear his gaze away from. 

“I said ‘no,’” he growled out then, voice shaking with anger but edging into agony. He had promised himself long ago that he would never lay a hand on Q in anger or the sick wash of depression and that same promise kept him trapped now, hands curled into impotent fists at his sides. “Get out of the way,” he added, terse and tense, “unless you plan to illegally extradite me from a country that already has very tenuous ties with Her Majesty’s government.”

"Her Majesty's government isn't keeping you here. I am." Q wasn't sure what James would do if he knew he was acting alone. MI6 hadn't sent him - in fact, M had ordered his immediate return. He thought if James knew the truth, he'd have fought harder to flee, but now that he was here, now that he saw that he could still affect the impenetrable James Bond, he had to take the risk. "I'm sure the extraction team knows by now. They'll have been called away."

Those words opened up another chasm of pain in his chest and James actually winced at the sensation, unaware until now that a greater depth of such pain could possibly exist for him. Part of him latched on to the words, desperate to believe them, wanting to give them credence. But the hostile side of him, still untrusting and angry, pushed hard against that needy want. That was the part of him that still controlled his mouth, “Likely. I’m not falling for such a blatant ploy, Q. They want me, they’ll have to take me.”

"M is probably furious with me. He ordered me back before my plane even landed," Q continued, insistent. He wanted, so badly, to close the distance between them. He needed answers, but James always felt better after he got some of the tension out. He wouldn't begrudge him his usual methods, not after a year apart. Q wanted to be honest, but it would probably just cause another fight and he was fully aware of the open window behind them and he didn't like his chances of catching James again if he did run.

James shook his head again, as if he tried hard enough he could control everything just with that movement. But his control was slipping and he hated himself for it, hated that he was somehow still so weak in the face of the man who took his open, honest need and ground his face in it. Why should he go back? What was Q offering? Other than himself, just this once, in a ridiculous and frankly insulting parody of intimacy? Taking him up on that would lead to nothing but more regret, more self-loathing. All he had left was parody of his own, the words twisted with anguish and scorn, intermingling together in a hellish embrace, “What do you want from me, Q?” 

Q recognized that sentence. Recognized it had come from his own lips five months ago. He truly, truly had not meant to scorn James. To turn him down and make him believe he didn't want him to come back. But after watching him leave with Madeline, only returning for the car he had so painstakingly restored for James' sake, he'd felt shattered. He needed reassurances. Q should have seen that that was not the time to ask for them. His gaze softened and he allowed his expression to reflect the swarm of feeling buzzing around in his skull. "I want you to come back with me." He closed his eyes then and realized this was a parody of their exact conversation in reverse. "I'm sorry, James."

A short, barking laugh escaped James before he even realized it and he had to cut the sound off in his throat, leaving the room filled with a jagged silence. “You’re sorry?” the question came out as a snarl, James’ teeth barred in an unkind grimace. Being fueled by anger was one thing; adding hurt to the fix only served to make everything burn hotter and more dangerously, “What fucking changed, then?” Though he wasn’t a man of many words James couldn’t seem to help himself now. They kept coming, each one carefully formed with as much malice as he could fit into each syllable, “Last time we spoke you didn’t give a bloody fuck, did you?”

"Don't act as though I've been the only one who acted cruelly, James," Q ground out, his jaw clenched. His patience was worn thin, teetering too sharply on the brink of despair to have the fortitude to keep bearing it with a straight face. "You seem to have conveniently forgotten you were the one who left in the first place. Is it so hard to believe that I deserved some assurances from you?" Vitriol filled the spaces where moments before there had been regret, Q's eyes flaring as he defiantly met James' gaze again.

Before the conscious thought even flitted through his mind James’ hand came up, lightning quick as he snaked his fingers into Q’s mop of dense hair. They clenched tight, enough to send pinpricks of pain across the other man’s scalp, but that was as much as he allowed himself. Even in the thick of it he had enough restraint and clarity of mind to remind himself of the promise he’d made. Hand tangled in Q’s hair he almost felt a sense of ownership sweep over him, cool some of the rage roiling in his gut. Whatever was going on between them right now he could ensure Q stayed put through it all until he was damn good and ready to let him go. “What assurances, Q?” he ground out, teeth clenched in frustration and, suddenly, a flare of desperate longing, “what magic words were you expecting?”


	23. And We're Falling Apart

The fingers in his hair earned James a sharp gasp, and Q's body stilled. Had it been anyone else he would have fought, but the trust between them lingered, even if it was only as tenuous as smoke. "I don't know, James. I don't know your truth. You make it so damnably hard to know." He swallowed thickly, and was surprised to find arousal cloying his senses now. "I don't want you to just say what I want to hear. There are no magic words. I didn't tell you to come back because you have a habit of leaving every time you do. Do you really have to wonder why I was hesitant to invite you back in?"

Through the haze – the rage, the aching hole in his chest, the sense of betrayal – James felt a nagging sense of guilt. Q, damnable Q, was right. James had known, of course he had, from the beginning why Q was hesitant. He had a history. As Q was so quick to remind him it was a history so prevalent he was able to make a math problem out of it. If his grip on Q’s hair hadn’t been so tight, there was a chance his hand might have started trembling, “This – Madeline – was the only time I actually left. And three weeks in a bullet to the brain started to sound better than passing another night in country club hell.” His voice shook instead and James felt his control slipping further, unable to stop it, “I made a mistake. I made a mistake and you wanted nothing more than to rake me over the fucking coals for it.”

"No. It wasn't about punishing you." Q stood taller then, ignoring the ache in his skull as the movement tugged on his hair. "Not entirely, at any rate. You seem to have no idea what it did to me." He paused then, not ready to talk about the self-loathing and worthlessness he felt when James left. He'd been cast aside as carelessly as the tech James couldn't ever seem to bring back. He was useful when James needed him to be, but not worth returning in one piece. "When I said I wanted assurances, that's what I meant. I was quite candid about that. You are too smart to need me to spell it out for you further."

James shook his head at that, again as though the movement could protect him or find some way to end this conversation. But they were too deep into it now, too invested in each other and hurt feelings and painful memories. “Fine,” he spat out then, voice tinged with a manic kind of urgency, “that’s what you want? Fine.” Grip still tight he dragged Q in closer to him, until they were pressed together and he could snarl directly into his ear, “You want to hear that I’ll never fuck someone outside a mission? Done. You want to hear that I’ll never run off with some clueless, innocent woman again? Done. You want to hear that I’ll stay MI6 until it kills me, just so you can have the cold comfort of knowing it kept me under your purview? Done.” 

His voice shook again, as though the very act of conjuring up the words hurt, “You want me to live and die for you, Q? Done. Right up there with Queen and Country. Thought you already knew that’s where you stood.” Finally he released his grip on Q’s hair, knowing he was on the edge and close to taking things too far. He stepped back as far as the narrow space between him and the wall would allow, putting distance between them again, “How’s that for assurances?”

Q was vaguely aware that his eyes stung, though whether it was more from the pain in his scalp or the pain in his chest was a puzzle he didn't have the strength to solve. The words he'd waited so long to hear were thrown in his face like daggers. They were meant to hurt, not heal. When he was finally released, his head sagged forward, as though it was too heavy for his neck without James holding it up and he didn't bother to lift it right away. No doubt James saw his body's betrayal of emotion. Q could spew venom just as well - it was on the tip of his tongue to point out that James was destroying him the same way he had destroyed everything else around him, but it was as unfair a thing to say as it was untrue. Q was silent as he dredged up the strength to keep the tears from spilling - he was not a man who cried easily, dammit, and James must already think he was weak enough - and his face was calmer when he finally managed to contain it all, though he couldn't erase the pain completely. 

"Are you quite finished?" he asked, his tone a mere echo of its usual crispness. Q kept his expression as open as he dared, wondering if James would see how deeply his words had cut. Perhaps that would serve to dampen the flame of rage still burning so brightly behind his eyes.

Whatever James had wanted, had hoped to get from Q… this wasn’t it. The way his head hung in seeming defeat, the eventual dampening of his words, the look on his face at the end… It hit James and it hit him hard. In the blink of an eye the anger left him, fleeing his body as though yanked by a cord. It left him boneless and bereft, anguish and pain and shame seeping in to suffuse his bones in its place. 

“… Fuck…” the word came out more as a puff of air than anything and James slumped against the wall at his back, letting it hold him upright. He was such a fool and he pushed too far this time, was already berating himself for having the gall to grab Q’s hair like he had. It was all he could do to keep himself upright on trembling legs and so he gave himself over to that pursuit, letting his head fall back against the wall and closing his eyes, taking a minute just to breathe and try to recover some semblance of humanity. 

Q could see the fight go out of James all at once and it was like night and day. He was glad to see it - not because he liked seeing James in pain but because he hoped it would mean his head had cleared. He opened his mouth to try and make a joke, something light hearted to try and salvage what was between them - 'I thought you'd already suggested that once, James, have you changed your mind again?' - but a knock at the door interrupted them. "Q, we've just gotten orders from M to bodily remove you if you don't come of your own will." It seemed the extraction team hadn't left after all and he sighed. He stepped back and retrieved his tie from the floor, taking the time to gather his wits about him before he looked up at James again. "...are you coming with me?"

James thought about the question briefly but his perspective felt distorted, like he was thinking through a fish eye lens. But finding the answer didn’t take too long – he’d given his assurances after all, hadn’t he? Even spit out in anger he had meant them. They held his truth, the truth he’d been too skittish to put words to. After a moment he only nodded, levering himself up off the wall and ensuring he was steady on his feet before they went to face the extraction team.


	24. Return

Q held his tension in the line of his back and the ridges of his shoulders, but he didn't question it. If James was lying, he couldn't stop him now. So he simply turned and left the room. The point man, Walsh, the one who knocked on the door, glanced between the two of them with a look of vague concern. "He's coming with me. Back to MI6. Tell M we'll arrive back in London posthaste. Well done, today." Q didn't even pause as he spoke, the sentence ending as he was already in the hallway. He was already thinking two steps ahead as usual, his analytical mind booting back up again in the wake of the storm of emotion that had passed over him.

James followed at somewhat of a distance, at least out of arm’s reach, and kept a stony, silent look on his face as he made his way through the extraction team. He was still angry at being detained but also knew that they were only doing as ordered. He did his best not to fault them for that. He didn’t know what happened from here, or what Q had in mind, but he had said he would return with the Quartermaster and he meant to keep his word. His only true concern at the moment was that he find a suit to change into before they landed at Heathrow - he would be damned before he walked into MI6 dressed like this.

Q was too drained to speak. He led James to the car another member of the extraction team had waiting for them. He climbed into the back and pulled his messenger bag over his lap. He was too tired to even pull out the laptop to start drafting a reply to M. He sat woodenly as James climbed in beside him and they were ferried to the airport. The silence stretched on through the gate, through the uncomfortable wait, and all Q could think about was getting some sleep on the way back. He certainly wouldn't be getting any in London for a while, not with the tirade he was sure M had in mind for him.

As luck would have it there was two and a half hours to kill before their flight and an atelier with decent enough merchandise located in their terminal. It took the better part of an hour and forty five minutes but he managed a new suit, a shave, and a visit to the barber to tighten up his haircut. Walking back to their gate James felt like a new man – it seemed like he’d been wrapped in that burnoose for years. It was good, to feel like himself again even on such a vain level. 

But he kept silent as he sat, the row across from Q and a few seats down, still careful to keep distance between them. He could see the exhaustion plain as day on the young Quartermaster’s face and would be remiss if he claimed he felt none of his own. He was just better at hiding it, that’s all. So there he sat, clean and quiet and waited for their plane to board. 

Q didn't question it when James wandered off for the better part of two hours. He had decided to trust the other man's word and so he let himself relax, dozing uncomfortably until James returned. He looked so much more like himself, like he had the last time he'd seen him, and Q felt a tiny spark of attraction bloom. He pushed himself upright, eyeing James for several minutes before he could bring himself to speak. "You look better."

At that James huffed out the barest hint of amusement through his nose. Had it been a different time, an easier time, the comment would have come without forethought. ‘Is there something else you’d prefer, Q?’ or “Keeping a close eye on me, hm?’ But things weren’t easy and the reality surrounding them didn’t allow for light banter. So he settled for tacit acknowledgement, a brief nod of his head. 

It was then that the loudspeaker clicked on and first class boarding was called for their flight. He rose, straightening the lines of his suit jacket before holding one arm out, indicating to Q that he should go first. As always, James’ instinct was to protect and to protect he needed his eyes on the asset at all times. 

Q didn't argue. He simply stood and boarded the plane, exhaustion in every line of his body. The two of them would have plenty of time to talk once they got home. The uneasiness between them would abate eventually and with a night of sleep perhaps they would feel more like themselves. The anger would return then, most likely, but there would be time to sort it out. The flight was smooth enough that Q managed to sleep most of the way home. For whatever lay between them, he still felt safe in James' presence.

R was waiting at the airport when the plane landed. Despite the fact that he'd managed to sleep on the plane, Q felt worse for wear, his body sore. He and James still hadn't talked, and that didn't seem likely considering the look on R's face. "M is furious, Q." She glanced at James, her expression unreadable. "Welcome home, Bond. You should probably stay close by; M will want to speak with you after he's finished with Q."

James had watched Q though the entire flight, eyes lingering on the soft lines etched on his face even in sleep. How badly he had fucked everything up between them. It was the only thought he had to keep him company the entire six plus hour ride. 

As they deplaned and were met by R James only nodded, expending the fewest words necessary to get his point across, “I’ll be at my flat. He can ring when I’m needed.” He’d kept his London flat, of course he had, because even with the hope of a bright future and a beautiful woman in front of him there were some things James wasn’t ready to part with. His gaze shifted from R to Q, eyes softening slightly as he looked at the young man, but facing M was something he was going to have to do on his own. He was the one who made the decision to go rogue, after all. He left the group of them without further goodbye to hail a cab, keeping his silence as he headed back to the flat he hadn’t seen in a year.


	25. Easier to Ask Forgiveness

Back at MI6 R was right, but only to a certain point. Furious wasn’t a strong enough word to describe M right now – livid might fit the bill and outraged would add further clarity when it came to explaining his current emotional state. The moment Q was escorted into his office and the door shut behind him he rapped an order, the words edged with steel, “Sit down, Quartermaster. Now.”

Exhaustion was wrought into every line of Q's body, and it was a struggle to affect the same cool, professional air he always had. He couldn't let M know how affected he was by Bond - he had to convince the older man that his actions had been completely calculated just like everything else he did. This was sure to be much worse if M ever realized he'd gone after Bond for more personal reasons than professional ones. He kept his shoulders squared and his hands folded in his lap, every inch the professional M knew him to be. "Before you begin, M, I'd like to apologize. I know my decisions seemed rash, but I felt as though this was an opportunity we would not get again." He hoped by admitting to what he had done, and by immediately apologizing, Q could clear the air between them.

A smart man, M had earned his way to his current title. He may never have been a double oh, or a genius quartermaster, but he knew how to read people and how to motivate and manipulate and guide them. He could smell Q’s calculated apology from a mile away and wasn’t having any of it, “Unacceptable. Bloody unacceptable!” He accented his words with a clenched fist pounded into the top of his desk, cheeks turning ruddy, “You are insubordinate! You actively and knowingly defied my orders. You put yourself in the middle of an op that went tits up as though you have any idea how to handle yourself in an active field! Reckless and insouciant and foolhardy, you are!” Yelling didn’t make him feel much better, but he hoped it got the point across, “What in seven hells were you thinking? You weren’t, that’s the issue!”

Q took the verbal lashing with as much grace as usual, and although his demeanor remained professional, as M went on his expression did change slightly. Instead of appearing unaffected it shifted, reflecting his sincere repentance. Though they didn't often have cause to interact, Q respected M. He didn't relish being out of his good graces, but he still believed it was for the best. "I was accompanied by the extraction team the entire time, and we were well enough away from the target that I felt the field was safe for the short time I was there. I made sure to continue to monitor the target as much as I could to ensure there was minimal risk." Q wasn't foolish enough to believe that M was only angry because he'd been insubordinate; he knew his worth in MI6, and he could guess the biggest concern M had was having his Quartermaster getting himself killed or captured. "I assure you, M, I was thinking. If Bond has returned to such employment, he's clearly out of retirement. He's a liability in the field, and an asset to us. I didn't want to delay and miss our opportunity to bring him back."

“Bond is not your concern!” the words were sharp, M’s ire clearly spilling into his perspective of the other man as well. The quiet thump of his fist hitting the desk again sounded through the space around them, a staccato and uneven beat to keep time in the conversation, “We were not looking for an opportunity to bring him back!” It was moments like this M was glad his office was soundproofed – he wouldn’t want any of the staff to hear him castigating Q like this but truth of the matter was the young man needed to hear it, “And if we were, it’s certainly not you I would send to do it!”

"With all due respect, sir, we haven't been able to find a suitable agent to promote to 007. I saw an opportunity. MI6 gave him leave to retire, and now that he's out of retirement, is it really so far out of the question to believe he'd be best served by returning to his old position?" Q was careful to keep his voice level. "If we ran into him once in the field, in all likeliness it would happen again. You know he fancies a challenge. I think we'd all rather have him back on our side." He hoped that M would see reason once the majority of his anger had blown over. He seemed to be a reasonable man, not one to let his anger burn hot for too long. Q could only hope his assessment of the man held true.

Though Q’s reasoning was sound, M was in no mood to hear it. “You’re lucky I’m not putting you on mandatory unpaid leave and starting an inquest, Quartermaster,” as he spoke, M reached for a box on the corner of his desk and thrust it at Q, basically dumping it in his lap as the younger man fumbled to get his hands on it, “R is a commendable woman. She would serve well in your position.” It was an empty threat and they both knew it but it was also the truth – she would make a good Q. Snapping his fingers impatiently, M gestured to the box, “She put that together while you were gone. You will be operating under an order of limited movement until further notice, Q, on pain of inquiry and termination, do you understand me?”

"She would make an excellent Quartermaster. That's why I trusted her to take over," Q agreed, hoping that by being agreeable M would be more amenable. The less angry he was when he was finished, the more likely he was to offer Bond his job back. So Q hoped. He opened the box and found what looked to be an old fashioned tracking bracelet, the kind the police used to monitor people meant to be under house arrest. He just raised an eyebrow as he slid it over his wrist. "I understand, sir. To what am I limited?"

“The exact coordinates of your home, the required surface streets to make it to the Tube, the Tube only between your home and your stop here, the surface streets required to make it from the Tube station to MI6, and the MI6 building itself,” M rattles it all off in quick succession, stern and cold. “Your groceries will be delivered to you,” he adds then, pushing the sleeves of his dress shirt up to expose his forearms – he found himself hot under the collar in more ways than one. “If you screw with that we may not be able to stop you, but R will know.”

"If this is what you deem appropriate, I'll accept it. I understand that I was insubordinate and that it comes with consequences. I won't tamper with it." Q really had no need to complain; as far as punishments went, all M was really sentencing him to was to wear a really ugly bracelet. He hardly went anywhere outside of work and home as it was. He got the sense that there really wasn't much else for M to say - he'd said his piece and doled out his punishment. Q found himself hesitating before he spoke again. "About Bond... will you consider taking him back on? I've been assured 003 will recover fully; Bond didn't even make him bleed. He's clearly still got some loyalty to MI6."

Eyes flashing, M ended the conversation in short order with a growl, “Bond is not your concern. We’re finished here. See yourself out.”

So it was that James had barely enough time to hit the shower before being called back to MI6. He gave brief thought to loitering, just to remind M he was no longer under his purview, but in truth he had too much respect for the leader of MI6 to do so. So it was that he changed back into one of his old suits, allowing himself a small smile as it slid across his shoulders like he’d worn it just the day before and went back to his car, heading into the heart of London. Upon arrival he was escorted to M’s office and went quietly, wondering what the outcome of their meeting would be. 

Truth be told, Q did manage to take most of the wind out of his sails. He anticipated Q's defiance of his orders to carry over into direct defiance of him. He had gotten too used to the agents doing whatever they bloody well pleased and not being at all sorry for it; Q was the opposite and it was unexpected. M sighed when Bond arrived and he waved at the seat his Quartermaster had occupied. "Take a seat, Bond. I expect this won't take long."

Nodding his hello with a quiet “M,” James did as he was bidden and sat. Did he want to come back to MI6? He supposed the answer was yes, though it has as much to do with Q as it did the job at this point. That thought scared him. The last time he’d been this close to someone, well… Everyone knew what had happened then. James could only hope he wouldn’t be setting himself up for utter humiliation a second time. 

"I've never known you to have mercy on anyone, and yet you let 003 live." M linked his fingers together in his lap and leaned back in his seat, watching Bond's reactions. "You did manage to undo two months of planning, though. I ought to be bloody angry with you." For all his bluster with Q, M knew he couldn't really hold what happened against Bond. He hadn't done anything wrong; hadn't sought out an MI6 mission to run amok with or even caused any damage to his agent or his tech. He'd just been in the wrong place at the wrong time. "So tell me, what is it that you want, Bond?"

At the last question James fell silent, turning it over in his head a moment before addressing the earlier comments. “I have no interest in killing a loyal countryman,” he responded, the answer to that easy enough to come by. He allowed a small smirk to touch his lips then, that old self-confidence burbling through, “I didn’t undo anything – if 003 had been more skilled, he would have completed the mission regardless.” At that he fell quiet again, weighing the last question in his mind. He couldn’t decide what to say, how to untangle the desires in his chest, and so he kept his cards close, “What are you offering?”

"Loathe as I am to give Q any credit, he was right about one thing. You did retire in good standing with MI6, and you have shown you're still loyal. Truth is, we haven't been able to fill your role. I'd been willing to give you the position back and I was thinking about offering if I'd been able to find you. I see no reason why this little mishap should change anything," M explained. After months of unsuccessfully trying to fill the position, M had rang the last known number for Bond they had on file in an attempt to lure him back to his job. Of course, the number had been out of service, which had only frustrated him that much more. As horribly as he'd gone about it, Q was right - Bond was an asset.

With the offer on the table James only nodded, rising from his chair to button his suit jacket before holding a hand out to M, “Understood and accepted, M.” Retirement, as wanted as it has been, had almost destroyed him. James learned more about himself than he’d ever expected to in those short, painful months and realized that to be content with his life he had to be useful. No place in the world knew how to use him like MI6. He found himself smiling slightly as M accepted the handshake – it was good to be back.


	26. Tentatively

Q threw himself into his work, trying to find some semblance of himself in the aftermath of the disaster he had created. He had never needed to learn to compartmentalize quite like this - he was good under pressure with the work he was used to, good at remaining calm when his agents needed him - but his trip to Saudi Arabia to bring James back was completely foreign to him. He was not a man of strong emotion; he hadn't been raised that way, hadn't had any significant trauma to bring up extremes in his emotional history, and he lacked the tragedy most of the other agents had that had taught them how to shut down the parts of themselves that felt anything other than anger, which was apparently the only useful emotion given how they used it. 

Q didn't languish under his observation by M; he flourished instead. He was forced to be singularly focused, and he was, drowning himself in work the way James drowned himself in scotch until he felt more like himself. He didn't see James for the rest of the week, but he knew they were processing his re-admittance into MI6. It was midday when he arrived, and Q had been forewarned. His crisp professionalism was more than enough to mask his eagerness when James entered his office, and he had purposefully picked that time to work on upgrading 003's Walther. "Afternoon, 007," Q greeted, pointedly lifting up the gun. "I found your souvenir."

“Ah,” James commented, the wry shadow of a smirk touching his lips, “that.” As he walked across Q-Division’s tiled floor the sound of his shoes clacking on the hard surface echoed through the air. It sounded like home. He couldn’t help but find himself mildly annoyed Q had actually gotten that gun back; he’d taken it on purpose. “I was disappointed to see the lack of innovation, given you had a whole year to improve it. I thought I would encourage you.” He had been so nervous heading down to Q-Division, knowing he’d come face to face with Q again for the first time since he’d returned to London, that he slipped back into old habits just to keep his game face on.

This time, Q thought that pretending everything was normal was the best way to ease into talking again. "It was the rounds I improved over the last year. You left the real prize with 003." He deposited the Walther back in the bin and gestured for James to sit. "Speaking of the gun, you need to be refitted. I'm sure you managed to scar yourself again." The words were a soft reprimand, but there was an echo of concern in Q's eyes. He hadn't seen Bond in a year; he had no idea what new injuries he'd sustained, what new scars had bloomed on his skin.

At that James shrugged – injury was basically second nature to him now, though country club living didn’t pose much of a threat beyond getting hit with a tennis ball or smashing oneself in the shin with a golf club. Certainly the last 5 months had allowed him to accumulate a further smattering of bruises and scrapes but all in all he hadn’t sustained anything serious. Too full of energy to sit James ignored that particular directive, instead choosing to hover at the edge of Q’s work surface and pick at the things scattered across the desk, “Do as you need, Q.” With a frown he picked up a pair of lace panties, tucked haphazardly under an equipment return tray, “Growing bored and lonely at Q-Division, are we?”

"I'm never bored at Q-Division," he replied, leaving out the lonely part on purpose. "002, 004, and 009 don't have the benefit of using tiepins outfitted with tiny cameras. Given the frequency with which their missions become intimate, I am attempting a similar piece of tech. It's proving to be quite challenging." Removing the panties from James' grip, Q gestured to a chair for him to sit. He pressed what looked like the grip of a pistol into James' hand, though the texture was less solid. "It's outfitted with sensors to get a better palm print read out than doing a flat scan. Something else I've improved."

“Busy little beaver, aren’t you?” he asked in that nonchalant way of his, disguising the fact that he definitely caught on that Q left out the word lonely. He did his best not to think on it too hard. Avoidance was serving him very well right now. Looking down, James distracted himself by studying the fake grip currently in his possession. It was impressive, of course, the tiny computer in his hand, impressive what it could do and even more impressive: the mind that built it. Q was a genius, so far beyond anyone else James had ever known it was laughable. 

And yet… it was just another reason James should have never involved himself with Q to begin with. Genius, yet fragile and James never did anything to people but break them. It felt a lot like whiplash, the difference between their conversation on his veranda and the conversation they’d had in Saudi Arabia and it hurt just to think on. Maybe he shouldn’t have come back to MI6 after all – the guilt hung heavier on him here, this close, yet still feeling so far away. It had been a selfish decision, plain and simple.

Once the calibration had completed, Q reached out, gingerly peeling James' fingers from the tech. "All set, then. I'll have a new Walther for you shortly." He tucked the device away, and then glanced up at James, his usually unreadable expression replaced by curiosity tinged with longing. "I've been working on some other tech I'll need you to stick around for, if you don't mind." Though his words seemed to give James an option, his demeanor didn't - the other man clearly didn't have a choice but to be subject to his tests. 

Q ran a few voice recognition scans, took some seemingly obscure measurements, and generally worked in silent efficiency. It wasn't until Q had finished his tests that he spoke, tucking all his tools away. "I'm sure you've heard that M's got me restricted," he began, his expression unreadable once again, tone reserved. "I think there are a few things left to work out. I'd... like it if you could find time to meet me at my flat." His unreadable expression shifted, almost imperceptibly. James wouldn't have noticed anything if Q hadn't looked up at him then, eyes betraying the hope he felt.

Sitting patiently through the rest of his tests, James allowed Q’s silence. Knowing what to say was its own minefield. When Q spoke of his punishment – the one earned from seeking James out – he allowed a thin smile, nodding toward his wrist, “Yes, I see he’d provided you quite the fashionable accessory as well.”

Again, it was easier to feign ease with meaningless conversation than address the elephant in the room. Which was why, when Q gave him those wide eyes, that James almost felt caught off guard. “Q…” he began, trailing off just as quickly, “we’d tried that once before, hadn’t we?” Though the words could have come off cruel, James’s sad tone expressed the real feeling behind them, “What’s changed you since then?” 

Q swallowed against what felt like rejection, taking care not to let too much of it show. He took his time in stowing away his things, lining the words up carefully before he said them. "Nothing changed. I want the same thing now I did then. I'm just... trying for honesty." That was the only thing Q could see when it came down to it; the reason they'd failed so spectacularly. By all accounts they were good together, except for the fact that they never talked about anything meaningful. And if they wanted to overcome that, now was the time. He had asked for James' truth in Saudi Arabia, and he thought now was probably time to share his own truth. "Is that a no, then? If you don't want to come by, at least don't keep me waiting."

James felt the ache in his chest shift and change, morphing from hollow to something sharp and vicious. The look on Q’s face – as hard as he tried to hide it – spoke volumes. Over anything else, any other urge that drove him, James did not want to hurt Q again. So he took a deep breath then, flexing his fingers as he ran his next sentence through his head a few times, wanting to ensure it wasn’t going to come off incorrectly, “I would like to know your truths. Actually hear them in the words you say, not the silence in between.”

Encouraged, Q allowed the briefest smile to flicker across his face before he nodded. "I didn't take you for a poet, James." Though his words were a tease, he was clearly grateful for the acquiescence. "Since I’ve no other choice but to be here or at home, you're welcome to stop by whenever you like. I think you'll be pleased to see I've perfected my skill with your vodka martini. Shaken, not stirred." There was mirth in his expression now, and although Q wasn't quite smiling, the edges of his lips were upturned, cheeks dimpling slightly the way they did when he was on the brink of it.

At that James let out a shaky breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding and laughed, the sound warm as it wound its way through the air around them, “Wonderful.” He allowed the brevity to buoy him, to help ease the stabbing pain still trying to find purchase in his chest, “Have you managed to graduate to anything stronger than tea, Q?” Though he couldn’t make it tonight – there was mandatory night ops refresher training he was expected to attend and Q knew that – James planned on making it to Q’s the night after if it killed him. 

"How would I know I'd perfected your martini if it hadn't been through trial and error?" He let James mull that over, and he said it in a lighthearted way, giving no indication to the actual reason he'd taken to perfecting the drink in the first place. Q didn't feel the need to mention that he'd done so out of loneliness, though there was a significant amount of curiosity in the undertaking as well. "Though I do still prefer rum." This exchange, as innocuous as it was, had him feeling better, and Q was looking forward to James' visit more than he was dreading it.

James only laughed again and shook his head, making some offhand comment about Q’s decidedly feminine taste in alcohol. That night and the next day passed in a blur, but only because James pushed himself to the brink of exhaustion in order to occupy his mind and his time. Otherwise he would have gone stir crazy waiting for Q to go home.


	27. Shaking

He had keep an eye on Q-Division as afternoon had given way to evening and when, finally, Q appeared with a jacket pulled tight around his thin frame James breathed out a sigh of relief and met the young man on the sidewalk a few dozen meters from the entrance “I’ll walk you home,” he offered by way of explanation, still finding it easier to hide in casual comments, “make sure you are following orders.” 

Though Q didn't turn his head to look at him, he smiled nonetheless, the expression mostly hidden against the upturned collar of his jacket. "I'll keep this in mind the next time you have orders you ought to be following," he replied instead, the conversation keeping its nonchalance in spite of the anxiety roiling underneath. Q was anxious for more reasons than he could name, though he was mostly excited. He wanted to get this out of the way, wanted to put this last year in the past so that they could move onto something more concrete... assuming that's what James wanted. 

Q knew the other man cared for him, but he wondered whether he would really be able to commit. He didn't know the depth of it, but he'd gotten the notion that James thought of himself as the type of person who broke people - not the type of man who was able to bring happiness. That in and of itself was probably a huge motivating factor in why he kept pushing him away. Still, even understanding that, Q hoped that this could mean something for the both of them; the year apart taught him that much.

That got a quiet, huffed laugh from James, the sound escaping more as a puff of air than anything. He felt more at ease standing here beside Q, even with the monumental work they had ahead of them, then he ever did on the best days with Madeline. He was the consummate gentleman as he escorted Q back to his flat; holding doors, gesturing for him to proceed first as they made their way on and off the train, and once, for just a fleeting moment, pressing his hand to the small of Q’s back and guiding him around a rather boisterous crowd of drunken students.

The touch was electric, something James was aware of in every fiber of his core, but he did his best not to allow himself to be so free. The rest of the journey was completed without another such incident, though he was only able to ensure that by tucking his hands into his pockets. The surreptitious little glances he kept shooting Q’s way were the only thing he couldn’t help – he hadn’t seen the young man face to face in a year, hadn’t had any time alone with him until right now. This was… pain, but it hurt so good. 

Q was acutely aware of James' presence the whole way back to his flat, feeling like a lightning rod in a storm. He could almost feel the other man's gaze like tiny pinpricks against his skin, and although he thought himself a practical person, Q almost wondered if this dizzying desire should be quelled before any serious discussion was had. He was angry - furious, really - and heartbroken, and lonely, but James was here again and for the first time in a year he could reach out and touch him whenever he wanted to. For being an intellectual, Q was surprised by how strongly his body was reacting right now, how much the loneliness had really gotten to him. 

Once they reached his flat, he shrugged out of his coat and shoes, flipping on lights as he made his way into the kitchen. "Drinks first, I suppose? I doubt you'd rather start with some tea."

“Correct,” James responded, taking his time to hang up his coat properly and untie his shoes, slipping out of them and placing them in the rack by the door otherwise unused by its owner. Being in Q’s flat again, surrounded by nothing but his scent and his things and his presence, James almost feels cowed. He’s lucky, he realized, to be allowed here again. He vowed then and there to do his best never to take that for granted. 

Following behind Q a minute later, James stood in the doorway and watched the younger man, grateful to see that some things hadn’t changed – that ungraceful mop of hair still crowned his head, still captured the light when Q was bent over and rummaging through the fridge, was still inviting him to curl his fingers in it and claim its owner. That thought, as small as it was, brought him peace. 

Walking through the kitchen again, James waiting for him just outside it while he put together their drinks was something so normal it was like he'd walked back in time. Like this last year had all been a bad dream. As idealistic as it was, Q was reluctant to let it go, hanging onto the feeling for as long as he could. He pulled out the vodka and vermouth, setting them down on the counter with a soft clink before he went for the ice. He let his task consume him, hoping to prove to James that he had gotten better in the last year. The calm feeling he had soothed his previous nerves, and in a few short minutes, he poured two vodka martinis, handing James his and cradling his own between his long fingers. Q's attention was entirely on James now, waiting for his reaction.

“You too? How unusual,” a quiet smirk touched the corner of his mouth as James raised his glass to Q before tipping it back to taste his first sip. As the alcohol ran over his tongue he closed his eyes briefly, surprised by just how damn good a job Q had done. He allowed himself a few more slow draws on the clear liquid, letting it settle in his stomach and fill his senses. Alcohol had always calmed him down and he needed it now just as badly as he had on some of his missions. Turning, he moved into Q’s dining room and took a seat at the table, crossing his right ankle over his left knee. “Well done, Q,” he murmured then, a satisfied undercurrent to his tone, “much better than I expected of you.”

Once he saw that his drink had passed inspection, so to speak, Q allowed himself a sip of his own. Vodka still reminded him of nail polish remover, but it was tolerable in small sips. He followed James into the dining room, thought he stood instead, leaning against the server, still cradling the glass in both hands. "When it comes down to it, this is a kind of science too. It wasn't difficult to figure it out once I found the time to put it into practice," Q explained.

Shaking his head with quiet amusement, James took another drink before he responded, “I would expect nothing less of you, Q.” At that he let his gaze shift, moving from the relative safety of Q’s chest upward until their eyes met. As the silence shifted and modulated around them James nonetheless felt the air charged with everything unsaid. But at the end of the day he was still James Bond, still the double oh who’d left and apparently broken Q’s heart, and he had nothing to offer but apologies and promises that Q might not believe. If he didn’t, James couldn’t say he’d blame him. 

"I could hardly be called a genius if I couldn't figure out a simple drink," Q replied in his usual tone - confident edging into haughtiness. It almost made him want to laugh. It was a strange paradox, being here and having these normal conversations when he knew that there was still an iceberg lurking below the surface ready to put a hole in their routine. This room, this conversation, this was safe. Who knew what was going to happen by morning, whether they'd come out the other side any happier than they were the last time they'd been together like this.

“Liquor and electronics don’t mix,” clear as day, James could still hear Q’s too-posh voice lecturing him on that very subject, “you have made your opinion on that quite clear.” Before… all of this, James had taken great pleasure in making Q’s head spin. One of the easiest ways had been to handle a glass of something or other, usually his martini, and with hands still condensation wet pick up one of Q’s oh-so-expensive pieces of equipment. He couldn’t even begin to count the number of times he’d heard his Quartermaster squawk in his ear about moisture damage this and short circuiting that. 

When James had questioned him – Shouldn’t someone as brilliant as you be able to develop waterproof tech? – Q had always been quick to point out that that wasn’t the point, thank you very much. Of course everything was waterproof. James would still do well to be more careful. Still studying the man in front of him, James couldn’t help but hopelessly wonder if they would ever be able to truly share such easy banter again and have it be just that, rather than a coping mechanism for the ugly truths they were trying to hide. 

Q just hummed slightly in reply, realizing that James was using his own words against him. He felt something buzzing under his skin again, anxiousness mixing with the liquor. After a few more sips, he set down his glass, only half empty. This encounter was feeling less and less natural the more time went on. There were so many things he had to stop himself from saying or doing - things he wasn't sure James wanted anymore. His demeanor changed and Q had to fight himself not to fidget. "...I know neither of us are very good at talking. But this past year..." he paused then, lips set in a thin line, just proving his point that he was terrible at expressing himself. "I don't want to do that again."

Though he fully understood that they needed to have this conversation it didn’t particularly mean James wanted to. Feelings – or at least, articulating them – were not his strong suit and he wanted so desperately to pretend at least for another few moments that things were just good between them. Having been turned down by Q once, James was recalcitrant, worried that it may happen again and Q was just trying to find a polite way to do it. Swirling his drink in his glass, James was quiet for a moment as his eyes traced the path of the olive, letting Q’s words sink in before responding, “Neither do I.”


	28. The Axe Is Heavy

Q curled his fingers over the edge of the server he was leaning against to prevent himself from twisting his fingers together. "The things you said in Saudi Arabia... I like to think I'm good at reading people, but I couldn't tell if you meant what you said or if you said it to..." he paused then, lips twisting. Q was already feeling vulnerable and he hadn't even really said anything that should make him feel that way. He took another breath, deciding not to finish that sentence. If they were going to work things out, it didn't make sense to start by accusing James of something. "I just want to know if you meant what you said," he finished. His nails were digging into the wood and he found it was harder than it should be to look at the other man. He came back with him, after all. Surely that must mean something. But the way he'd said it, like the words were venom, it didn't inspire much hope.

The muscles in James’ throat tensed, his gaze flicking up to Q for only a moment before falling back to the glass in his hand. He took another, larger drink this time, buying himself a few precious seconds as he worked to control the roil of anger and hurt that question brought up in him. “Did I say it to hurt you?” he was pleasantly surprised, the way the words came out with less of a growl than he expected. It seemed in some ways he was getting better at controlling the only emotion he showed with any regularity, “Is that what you were going to ask, Q?”

Q's knuckles were white with how tightly he was gripping the wood. As predicted, the half formed accusation made James angry. "Can you really blame me for wondering, James? Considering the way your words were delivered." He could still feel the way his hand had felt curled in his hair, his scalp burning with the intensity of it. He hadn't been afraid of James even then but a year ago he wouldn't have touched him at all. Q could only take that to mean that the affection and care James had always treated him with had faded. For him, though, his feelings had only multiplied upon seeing the other man again.

“Actually, yes,” he’d never been so fascinated by a martini glass before. James couldn’t help but wonder why meeting Q’s gaze seemed so fucking impossible. … he was afraid of what he might see there. Loathing? Hatred? Anger of his own? Though Q’s tone didn’t suggest any of those things, James couldn’t help but shy away. He knew what he’d done. But James Bond was not a coward and he refused to let himself continue to act as one. Finally tearing his gaze away and up, James searched until his eyes found desperate purchase on the other man, “I may have left things unsaid but name me one time I lied to you. Name me one.”

James's words struck a chord in him. Regardless of how he'd said it, James wouldn't have said anything he didn't mean. Q felt that spark of hope catch fire again, and his uncertain expression gave way to understanding. "...you haven't lied to me." He sighed and released the wood and leaned forward slightly, still meeting James gaze. "I am sorry, James. It's just that you left and when you called me... you'd already left once. I was afraid if I asked you to come back, it would just mean you would leave again." Q took a breath, feeling like he'd just torn down a dam with how much was rushing out of him. "I just want to know that you won't. Because I do want you to come back."

It was almost ironic, wasn’t it? He had never lied to Q but the younger man still felt as though he couldn’t trust him. James supposed he deserved that regardless of how much it stung. But deserved or not it didn’t make him feel particularly good. “I told you in Saudi Arabia, didn’t I?” the words came out more clipped than he would have liked but he was still managing to do a pretty marvelous job keeping his temper under wraps. James knew now wasn’t the time for anger and that what he already felt fueling him was just born from habit and a destructive need to protect himself, “You and MI6 until it kills me.” 

Finally hearing Q say he wanted James to come home should have felt like a blessing, like relief, but instead… James had to swallow hard against the bile threatening to rise in his throat. Q hadn’t wanted him to come back badly enough to risk what might happen. James found it absurd that Q even had to wonder – hadn’t he been paying attention? He had clearly admitted to making a monumental mistake and reached out for the only hand he thought would always be there to help him and found Q failing him. The realization of it all turned his voice hard, “That’s what you want, isn’t it?”

Instead of his words bridging the gap between them, all they seemed to do was make the chasm that much wider. Q frowned and leaned back again, letting the solid piece of furniture at his back keep him grounded. He'd never let on before, how much it hurt him to see James carrying on with various women. All he wanted to do was get it all out in the open so they wouldn't have anything else between them. Q had been certain it would hurt, but he didn't expect James to react like this. "Why do you say it like that?" He was caught so off guard by James' reaction that he could barely cover the hurt in his tone. "If it's true, why are you saying it like you wish it wasn’t?"

James had tried. Oh, how he had tried. But here they were, face to face, and at the end of the day anger was his go to method for almost everything that actually mattered. “I will be your constant, James,” the lilt of his voice, the current of sarcasm undercutting his words, made it clear he making a mockery of the quote. His blue eyes grew cold, the color seeming to crystalize even further as anger flared down his limbs and itched hot in his fingertips, “Fucking load of bullshit, that, wasn’t it Q?” He had never been so snide toward Q in his life but it felt impossible to stop now, “You’ve certainly proven that you’ve lied to me.” 

Q felt that bright spark of hope in his chest sputter and die. He clenched his jaw until he could trust his voice again, knuckles white against the dark wood - his nails would leave gouge marks for certain. "Did you come here to berate me? Is that why you came back? So I couldn't hang up once it got to be too much?" The venom in his voice matched the sorrow word for word and Q felt like he would split in half from all this back and forth. Ten minutes ago they were joking in his kitchen. And if James hadn't lied about wanting to be with him, why, then, was he pushing him away?

“Berate you?” the incredulous tone of his voice broke on a choked laugh, “Berate you?” He shook his head then, rising to his feet in one fluid movement despite the tension screaming through every last muscle in his body. The rough scrape of his chair against the linoleum sent Q’s cat skittering away from his spot under the table and James curled his upper lip, suddenly struck by how damn skittish both animal and owner were. “I had thought you were better than that, Q.” He felt his train of thought running wild, snippets of things he wants to say and things he knows he shouldn’t coming in hot and fast. “When we spoke on the phone you were the one with the lectures.”

"Because you broke my heart! I never thought I would let that happen, I tried to be careful. I knew you had trouble committing and I didn't blame you for it. I didn’t expect you to change for me but it happened anyway. I meant it when I said I would be your constant but I never promised to let you walk all over me." Q stood up straighter, releasing the edge of the server again though he didn't step away from it. He raised his chin somewhat in defiance, trying not to appear cowed. "All I wanted from you was to know that if you came back, you would stay. That was all I wanted. After what you did to me, I don't think that was asking too much."

James scoffed, the sound rough and cruel as he stalked into the kitchen, forgoing the martini and going straight for the vodka. Tilting the bottle back he took one, two, three deep swigs before throwing the now empty container into the garbage so hard it shattered. “I never asked for your damn heart,” he snarled then, eyes alight with something tangible to attack, “and I never made you a promise I failed to keep.” Though he’d returned the affection, loved Q the same, it had scared him. Q was a man who knew him, knew his past in a way a woman never could. Letting someone be that close, that intimate with him was an almost unbearable thought.

It was easier to be truthful in anger, to let the words come out heated and raw rather than honest and hurt, “You failed me, Q. You broke your word. I didn’t ask to walk all over you. I asked for a reason to come home. You knew who I was and you got involved anyway. I let it happen because I felt different with you, better!” Casting about for something, anything else to distract him, James fell short and pulled at his tie, suddenly feeling like it was choking him, “I called you that night because I needed you. I was honest with you in a way I hadn’t been with anyone, not even Vesper,” her name came out as half hiss, half broken sob, “and you were too damn busy being bothered to stand up and do as you’d said you would.”


	29. It Sits In My Hands

The sudden change in topic – no, not even – but rather the dredging up of his most glaring past failure broke something even deeper inside him. Casting a hand out blindly as he stumbled, James just managed to catch himself on the edge of the counter and get his free hand over his face as a desperate, wracking shudder ran through him. Things had collapsed around him with Vesper, try as hard as he had to avoid it, and now here he was doing his fucking best to bring the rafters down around his ears with Q. Self-loathing swamped him, making his knees buckle as he fought to keep a reign on his emotions, to avoid making an even bigger fool of himself than he already had. He didn’t want this, didn’t want to fight, didn’t want to lose the young man in front of him. He couldn’t survive that again.

Q distinctly felt like he was standing at a crossroads. He could continue as he had been, refusing to apologize until James did first, or he could put aside his pride. Q did recognize that James was hurting. Yes, he was hurting him in turn, but anger was his safety net. Q knew that. They would have time to talk it through later, once they had moved past this pain. His chest was heavy, but he knew he needed to bury the hatchet first or they would never stop. He could see the anger and pain James was feeling collapse in on itself and he left his perch then, curling himself against James' chest. He wrapped his arms around the other man tightly. "I'm sorry, James. I'm sorry."

Even in the depths of it all, James was still a trained double oh. The moment Q shifted and took his full weight onto his feet he knew, heard him move the second he did it. It fanned the desperate flutter of panic inside him, edging it higher and spiraling it tighter. For all he knew Q was planning on walking out, leaving James to be a complete prick alone, hoping he would be gone by the time Q decided to return to his flat. 

When the footsteps entered the kitchen James did his best to hold off another full body shudder, though he was only partially successful. Maybe what Q wanted was to tell him to fuck off directly. It wouldn’t be the first time that he’d exhibited a bit of lowbrow spunk. But when, instead of any of the million things James had been envisioning, he felt Q’s arms slide around him and the familiar and proper weight of his head come to rest against his chest, another shudder ran through him, vicious enough that Q was certain to have felt it. Q’s words were like a balm, the calm after the storm, and James’ arms came up tight around him in return, holding him like he was a lifeline, “Me too. I’m sorry, Q.” 

"You’re a bloody stubborn bastard, you know that?" Q said, words coming out as a half sob, but there was such relief and affection in them that it was impossible to mistake them for a jab. Q felt boneless in James' arms and he had to focus on breathing to keep from actually sobbing. "This is my fault too, James. I hurt you. I knew what I was getting into in the first place." Q knew James had his own weight to bear in what went wrong between them, but he always carried things much heavier than he needed to. They would both need to make things up to each other, both had things to apologize for that would take time, but right now this would have to be enough

A dry, cracked laugh was the only response Q got, but there was a shadow of genuine amusement under it. Already James was starting to rebuild himself, patch up the holes his overwrought emotions had escaped through. Q in his arms made it infinitely easier to be himself. “So I’ve been told,” he responded only once he was sure his voice was back under control, turning his face just slightly to bury it in Q’s hair. His mop of unruly, boisterous, wavy dark hair. The very thought of it made James smile against his scalp. 

Though he heard the rest of Q’s words, he didn’t respond, not then. This was too good a moment to interrupt, a physical connection the two of them sorely needed. As his head cleared, the anger finally settling back down, James knew just how lucky he was to be standing here like this. He wasn’t going to take it for granted. His arms tightened a bit further, almost imperceptibly, around Q as though if he held on tight enough nothing would be able to find a way between them again.

Q felt it too, how badly they'd needed this connection. They were both men who preferred action to words and he wondered why they hadn’t recognized it sooner. He breathed until he was sure his emotions were as under control as they could be before he pulled back. Q's eyes met James' and the last year that had stretched before them like an impossible abyss snapped. It had been longer than a year since they'd been like this, ensconced in each other's arms, though this time there were no secrets between them. Q felt more raw than he thought possible and now he found it impossible to break eye contact. He felt like he understood more now with fewer words between them.

As hard as it had been to look at Q earlier, to avoid his gaze now would have burned. James stared into those brilliant eyes, knew the brilliant mind behind them, and finally felt like he belonged again. There were things he could say, would say, if he were a man of words. I missed you. I was an ass. I’ll never do it again. But there would be time, later, when maybe he felt more like taking. All he wanted now was simple and with Q looking so open and so wanting, he finally allowed himself to take it. Tilting his head down he smiled, just for a moment, brushing his thumb over Q’s cheekbone before pressing their lips together. It was a gentle kiss, soft and kind, and it swept over James like a true homecoming. 

Q was a practical man. He was not prone to strong emotion of any kind. He felt like a stranger in his skin with how much emotion he'd felt in the last few minutes. The last few days, really, if he included his encounter with James in Saudi Arabia - even the fact that he'd gone in the first place was an act of emotion stronger than he'd ever displayed. It had to be because there'd never been an outlet for what he felt when James left. He had so many unanswered questions, and he had fallen in love so deeply that he felt every nerve ending had been exposed when James took the DB5 and left with Madeline. 

And for a year, those wounds festered. No wonder he'd been so overwrought. The soft press of James' lips to his didn't do anything to calm his emotions, though. Q felt like a man possessed, needing everything he'd been missing all in this one moment. His arms tightened around James and he pressed himself in closer, as though intending to adhere himself to the other man permanently. What started as a gentle kiss was quickly swept into something much more heated as Q eagerly parted his lips to deepen it.

Though James hadn’t intended on the kiss being fervent or desperate he certainly wasn’t averse to the idea: he had merely wanted to ensure he wasn’t pushing Q. With the younger man so pliantly eager below him James took the hint and pressed his tongue between Q’s lips, darting it softly over his lower lip in something of a tease before deepening the kiss as a whole. James kissed like he lived – hard and passionate, hands gripping Q’s waist possessively tight. Home, he was home. It was the only thought he had, wrapped up in Q’s mouth and the press of his body and the swell of need between them. He kissed Q until they were both lightheaded from it, breaking it only to take in a soft gasping breath, and rested his forehead against the other man’s as his breathing evened. Home. How badly he’d longed to be here. 

When James pulled away, Q whined softly in protest, even as his lungs were grateful for the air. He licked his lips, eyes shut as he breathed, making no effort to put any more space between them than was necessary. Right now, all the hurt he'd felt didn't seem to matter; James had made a promise. What did it matter what he'd done before when Q had him now? He caught his breath enough to quiet his burning lungs before he was kissing James again, grinding his hips against the other man's without any pretext. There had been other men, but they'd all been pale imitations of the one man he wanted. The man standing in front of him now. Q didn't see much sense in waiting, not when he finally didn't feel so alone.

There was something transcendent about the kiss, this fragile moment in time between them. James felt suspended, aware of his surroundings but removed from them, his focus tight and intense on Q. A year between them and he looked as though it had only been a day, still with his messy mop of hair and impish smile, outfitted in only the most pristine of name brand old man chic, rimmed glasses seeming to proudly display his penchant for technological pursuits. Lord above, he loved this man, everything about him, loved him so badly it hurt.


	30. Made Up Your Mind

The press of Q’s hips could not be mistaken for anything other than what it was – blatant invitation, a plea to erase the chasm of intimacy that had opened between them. As James’ eyes locked onto the younger man’s he could breathe in and bow to his wishes, keeping their gazes focused on each other as he slid his hands down to cup the firm swell of his ass and pull him in hard, giving Q the friction they both so desperately needed. “Now, Q?” he rumbled, squeezing his fingers as he did so, enjoying the sensation of Q in his hands again. He knew that Q wanted it now, exactly now, but wanted to hear it from his lips before he took him to the bedroom. 

They'd been pressed tightly together, but the feeling of James' hands on him, giving him more of what he wanted drew a groan out of Q. He tilted his head back slightly, that action alone more pleasurable than anything he'd felt in a very long time. Swallowing heavily, he nodded, breath already becoming labored. "Yes. Now. I don't have another year in me, James," he quipped, though his tone was lacking its usual edge. His pupils were dark with lust, voice growing husky with desire. Q rocked his hips back against James' hands then forward again. "Do you?" The words were a challenge, noting that Q had no patience for further teasing right now, that he didn't want to take his time. They'd both waited long enough.

Choosing not to answer James just smiled, the easy and indulgent one he hadn’t had cause for in a very, very long time. Sliding his hands further down he slid his fingers under Q’s thighs and lifted, pulling the other man into the air and guiding Q’s legs to wrap around his waist. He was already growing hard inside his trousers, the press of Q’s ass against him not doing anything at all to deter that. Carrying him into the bedroom, James busied himself with pressing kisses along his neck and down his front, as far as his shirt would allow. 

Q didn't need any guiding; he'd have had his legs around James' waist minutes ago if he could have managed on his own. He hummed in appreciation, keeping his head tilted back, giving James as much room as he could. Q could feel the other man's arousal against his and it only served to get him harder. He rocked his hips as much as he was able to while being carried without throwing off James' balance - not that that was a particularly easy thing to do to a man who was used to riding on top of moving vehicles. With what little room there was between them, Q moved one arm from around James' shoulders, clumsily tugging on the buttons, deft fingers struggling in their haste to push the button through the button hole, baring as much skin as he could.

It hadn’t been easy, when they were first together, to get Q like this. To get him to inhabit his body instead of his mind, to shut off the analytical part of himself that nags at everything, finding holes and flaws and things that needed fixing. But with time it had gotten easier and James was happy to see that he hadn’t lost his touch. With a playful growl he bit at Q’s collarbone through the soft fabric of his button down, showing feigned irritation that Q was gaining access he wasn’t. He wanted his young man naked and pinned under him, full of him, aware of nothing in the world but him. Needed to remind him of everything James was, how he could capture Q’s attention like lightening in a bottle, keep it electric and focused on him. Needed him, plain and simple.

Q smirked at the feeling of James' teeth against his skin and brought his other hand down, flicking buttons open with much more ease. He ran his nails down the exposed stretch of James' chest, teasing his fingertips over his nipples, urging him into action. His hand paused over where he could feel the other man's heart beating in his chest, and for a moment he was overwhelmed with gratitude that he was still alive to feel at all. The urgency of the moment wasn't lost on him, though, and he knew there would be time later to properly appreciate James' body, to take his time working over every inch of it until he was permanently ingrained in his memory, but now was not that time. Instead, once all the buttons of his dress shirt had been dealt with, Q wrapped himself around James once more, kissing him fiercely.

A growl escaped into Q’s mouth through their kiss, James biting at his lower lip to prove another point before pulling back to speak, “Take that ridiculous jumper off. Now.” As they reached the bedroom James opened the door, holding Q aloft with just one hand as he did so. He well knew that one of the easiest ways to turn Q on was to remind him how strong he was and James wasn’t above taking the easy route from time to time. As he waited for his orders to be followed James reached down with his free hand, fiddling teasingly with the button on Q’s trousers, “And say please.” 

His weight shifted when James moved his arm, and Q gasped at the suddenness of it, how off balance he felt. But if James had any trouble with it, he certainly wasn't showing it, which certainly had its intended effect. Before he was with James, Q never thought he would be into strength the way he was now. He hadn't discovered it until James was being a particular show-off and Q bet that James couldn't bench press him. That had been a particularly good fuck and this was going in the same direction. "As you wish, Commander Bond," Q purred, knowing that hearing his formal title was a turn on to the other. He leaned back as far as he dared in James' one-armed grip and pulled the jumper over his head, flinging it somewhere out of the way. He rolled his hips forward, his breath catching in his throat. "Please."

Wayward obedience was something Q had gotten down to a science before they’d even officially become something. He had a way of doing what he was told and yet still being flippant about it that made James want to fuck the attitude right out of him. He was sure that’s what Q was going for as well. The impediment finally removed, James curled his fingers into the left side of Q’s button down and yanked, popping the buttons free all down his front. Serves the little tease right for taking so long. Please. How ridiculous, the way one little word could have him aching with need, but he couldn’t deny that it did. Leaning in he bit at Q’s collarbone again, marking his territory before he spoke, “You need me, don’t you Q? Want me inside you.”

Q swallowed his indignant huff, the analytical part of his brain irritated at the destruction of a perfectly good dress shirt. But the feeling of being skin on skin with James again, of being that much closer to him was enough to make it worth it. Feeling James mark him completely shut out his thoughts again, and he arched his back, a shuddering sigh escaping his lips. "Yes, James," he murmured, tightening his legs around the other man's waist, rutting against him as proof of how badly he needed it. "You just need to hear me say it, don't you, Commander? Which do you need stroked more, your ego, or...?" With that, Q reached down between them, pressing his palm against James' erection.

That elicited another deep, low growl from James, his only response being to bite harder against Q’s collarbone before bodily dropping him to the bed and crawling over top of him. James pinned Q with ease, all long limbs and strong hands, holding the other man down as he thoroughly ravaged his mouth and jawline with teeth and tongue. He liked feeling the way Q strained against him with need, so desperate for more than he struggled for it even knowing he had no chance. “You’re going to do far more than stroke my cock,” nibbling his way up Q’s ear, James smirked against his skin, “though it’s not a bad place to start.”

Q felt his breath leave him all at once as he was dropped onto the bed, James' familiar weight above him. He couldn't help but marvel at just how well both his wrists fit in James' hand, at how little it actually took for the other man to hold him down. Normally he would have been embarrassed at the soft, mewling sounds he made with each touch against his neck and jaw, but Q was already far too gone to even realize he was making sound at all. When he finally had the clarity to understand James' words, Q opened his eyes and felt his lips twitch in amusement. "Bit difficult to do like this, isn't it? My fingers aren't that long."

Another nip, harder this time, to Q’s earlobe was his punishment for being so flip. James wanted him writhing before he let anything else happen, wanted Q to be so desperate for him it burned, wanted him to feel how James had been feeling for longer than he could remember. To be fair, if he allowed himself to think about it James was fairly certain Q may have already experienced something of the like but he wanted it to be at his hands now, his mouth, a blinding want that blotted out everything else. So he worked his way down Q’s body, hand still tight around his wrists, biting and sucking at his nipples once he reached, his free hand undoing more of Q’s trousers and allowing the head of his cock to peak up through the opening. God above, James loved nothing more than the sounds Q made when he wanted. 

James' teeth at his ear sent a full body shudder through Q, his hips bucking up in an involuntary reaction. He was sensitive, and the men he'd been with in James' absence hadn't cared enough to find that out. All the better, he thought vaguely; it meant he would react that much more to each touch and press of lips and teeth against his skin. Normally, Q had an extraordinary amount of patience, but rather than slowly chipping away at it with each tease, James was bringing it crumbling down around him. The more desperate he got, the less sound Q actually made - all he could manage now were breathless gasps for air, panting harshly as he bowed his back up against James' mouth, hips rocking forward to seek more friction than he had.

The urge to tease, to torment Q warred heavily against an almost overwhelming need to just take him and fill him without any further preamble. Half of him wanted to rake his nails down Q’s pale skin, leave ruddy red furrows like trails of blood, visibly claiming ownership for everyone to see. Suck bruises into his skin, too high to cover with a sweater, until they turned from red to purple. Finger him open until he’s twisting on James’s fingers, desperately begging for more. Yet the thought of pushing Q’s legs apart and holding him open to take him ruthlessly without allowing even a break for air also exemplified the kind of raw, animalistic desire running rampant through James.

In the end, in spite of the earlier admonition that Q would be doing much more than just stroking his cock, raw need won out. James wanted inside Q as quick as humanly possible without truly hurting the other man. Relinquishing his hold on Q’s wrists, James levered himself down the bed, strong hands on Q’s thighs pressing them up and out. Without warning his head dipped down and his tongue, wet and insistent, pressed hard against Q’s hole. James planned on opening him up with tongue and fingers and worked at it diligently, managing to fit some teasing in by leaving his cock abandoned above him. 

A strangled cry escaped Q at the sudden change in position. At first, he'd nearly whimpered when James moved away from him, reaching out to pull him back, needing the closeness. He didn't have the time to, though, James' tongue earning another sharp gasp as his hands fell impotently at his sides, fingers curling in the sheets. As much as he pretended to complain about it, Q enjoyed the teasing James usually put him through. Somehow, it made the act more intimate, made him feel closer to the other man. But right now, he and James were on the same wavelength when it came to their need and his body reacted in kind. 

Q offered almost no resistance, already relaxing against the intrusion, small as it was. He pushed his thighs further apart and lifted his hips further, giving James the access he needed. Normally, he preferred not to touch himself until he was ordered to or until he was close enough that he had no other option if James wasn't doing it himself. Now, though, Q had nothing resembling shame as he untangled his fingers from the sheets to begin fisting his cock in long, languid strokes, gasping for air at the mixed sensations of his hand and James' tongue.

Occupied as he was, James was still well aware when Q began stroking himself. But this time, much unlike others, he decided to allow it, lifting his head only for a moment to brush a soft kiss over Q’s fingers on the down stroke. Now that Q was so willingly holding himself open James was able to bring his own hands into play, reaching blindly for the night stand and hoping Q still kept lube in the drawer like always. Relieved when his fingers stumbled over the familiar bottle, James slicked two of them and brought his hand back around, pressing one inside Q, slow but insistent, as his tongue kept licking him open around the edges. 

Q was surprised he even noticed the soft brush of James' lips against his knuckles, but he supposed it was because every touch was electric, no matter how small. It warmed him, too, the affection of it, reminding him that even though they were both lost in the physicality of each other's bodies, there was something else between them. Q was impatient as James looked for the lube and was about to get it himself when the other man found it and he sighed, relieved and impatient, shifting his hips for a better angle. As soon as he felt the finger pressing against his hole, Q pushed his hips down, eager to have it inside him - eager for more, really, but he knew that James wouldn't rush enough to hurt him, so he contented himself with this, for now.

The process of working a man open could so easily be rote and boring – a necessary nuisance required to get to the grand finale – or it could be the grandest kind of foreplay, a teasing, taunting, electric exchange that left both men hungry for more and full of fire. This time, as it was every time James was with Q, was of the second kind. He worked Q over with consummate skill, tongue and fingers both lavishing attention on not only his hole, but his perineum and the soft skin at the back of his balls. 

James wanted him writhing in pleasure just from that, wanted Q to be lost in it before he ever slid his cock inside him. Wanted the press of his cock to urge him on higher, leave him breathless and gasping with the course of arousal running through him. He knew Q would let him take him there as well and that made it all the better. 

After what felt like an embarrassingly short amount of time, Q dropped his hand from between his legs, twisting and writhing away from James almost suddenly. It hadn't been this good in a long time and he didn't want to push himself too far. Breathless, he sat up on his elbows, realizing belatedly he hadn't removed his glasses and they were askew on his face. He must look ridiculous, he thought briefly, but instead of commenting on it he simply tugged them off, speaking once he'd managed to catch his breath. "James..." He only had enough air to breathe his name before he moaned again, finding it hard to speak as the other man continued. "James, a moment, please-"

So enthralled with Q, James barely noticed the aching want thrumming through his own skin even though it was certainly fueling his actions. The way Q’s voice sounded on his name, breathy and high, desperate… it only encouraged him to continue rather than provide Q with the requested moment. Pulling his fingers – all three of them, now – free, James slid his tongue in one last time and pressed hard, flicking it inside of him. He could tell by how tense Q’s thighs were around him that he was doing everything right; it made him smile against the other man’s skin.

Without much conscious thought, Q's legs wrapped themselves around James' shoulders, pulling him in closer in spite of himself. Covering his mouth to stifle the desperate, keening cry being so close to the edge but wanting so much more pulled out of him, he bit into his palm, trying to distract himself. When James finally relented, his legs dropped back down to the bed, boneless already, the rest of his body sagging as he tried to recover. God, if he was already feeling thoroughly fucked after what amounted to foreplay, he could only imagine what he would feel like once James was actually inside him. The thought sent another full body shudder through him.

His eyes grew even darker as James took in the sight of Q sprawled on the bed beneath him, a veritable feast laid out for the taking. Rising up to his knees the double oh smirked, his own cock throbbing inside his too restrictive clothing. Reaching down, James grabbed Q’s hand and pulled him up as well, sliding each of Q’s slender fingers into his mouth and laving them with his tongue. He enjoyed the tremor he felt in Q’s hand at the blatant innuendo. Even in the current situation James couldn’t help but be his usual cocksure self. Only once he was thoroughly finished with Q’s fingers did he release the last one with a little pop and slide Q’s hand down his body, leaving it to rest on the button of his slacks, “Go on, Q.”

Q closed his eyes, letting the last of the tremors flicker through him before he was more or less back in control of himself. He wasn't inexperienced, but Q found himself jealous of James - he hadn't been able to sort out how to drive the older man crazy the way James did to him and he found it frustrating. Shaking his hair out of his face, he leaned forward, figuring he wouldn't get any better if he didn't try. "You could at least offer me a challenge, James," he replied, moving his hand around to the other man's back as he leaned forward. Where the idea came from, he couldn't be quite sure - maybe he saw it in a movie. Either way, Q was relatively certain that as long as he succeeded, James would find it infinitely more attractive if he managed to undo his trousers with his teeth. He lowered his head, nipping at the exposed skin of James' stomach where his shirt hung open, both hands moving down over his ass to hold him in place. Praying he didn't fail spectacularly, Q moved his mouth down, using his teeth to negotiate the button through the fabric.

The soft, barking laugh Q got in response settled gently over the room, warm and amused. James let the other man do as he would, one hand coming up to dig those lovely red furrows into his back once he presented it so beautifully. Q’s hands on his ass, his lovely mouth working so cleverly – just like his mind – was far more than enough to keep him engaged and focused. The press of his cock against Q’s cheek as he worked certainly didn’t hurt, either. “That’s it, love,” he breathed out then, the words conveyed more on that puff of air than through any true sound, “you’re so good for me.”

It didn't happen as quickly as he'd hoped, but Q managed to get the button undone without feeling too foolish. From there, the zipper was easy, but he paused in his work to mouth at James' cock through the fabric; he could be just as much of a tease. Q wasn't sure if that sort of thing drove James as crazy as it drove him, but he was determined to try. Once the feeling of the fabric against his lips got too grating, he relented, teasing the zipper down with his teeth. From there, he tilted his head up, just enough to meet James' gaze through his eyelashes. "Is that all you wanted?" he asked, a wicked smirk spreading across his features as he took in the look on the other man's face.

The wicked smirk that overtook James’ features was the only response Q got before James’s hands were on him, gripping him tight and flipping him onto his back before the other man had any idea what was happening. As one hand pulled his cock free from its confines the other slid under Q’s thigh and spread him, wide and obscene. It was quick work to slick himself with lube and even quicker work to press the fat head of his cock against Q’s hole and hover there, head tilting down to bite along his collarbone again, “Tell me, Q.”

Q grunted softly as he was tossed back onto the bed, though the sound quickly turned into a low, desperate moan. He didn't need much coaxing from James to spread his legs wider, giving him ample room to situate himself. His cock was wider than his fingers had been, and Q arched his back, trying to push himself down onto James without further preamble. Of course, having not uttered the words James wanted to hear, he was trapped, the other man's strength as frustrating as it was arousing in situations like this. "Please, James," he breathed, unable to keep still, body writhing underneath James of its own accord, "Fuck me."

The thrust of his hips was so instantaneous, so lightning smooth, that James was buried to the hilt almost before Q managed to finish the word “me.” He couldn’t help the gasp that escaped him, the way his body pinned Q down hard, wanting to savor this first slick slide inside of him in over a damn year. Mouthing wordlessly at Q’s neck and chest, James held them still for almost a full thirty seconds, mind drowning in pleasure at just the sensation of being joined again. He needed this, needed Q, and it felt so fucking good it burned. 

Q couldn't think of a proper word to describe the sound he made at the feeling of finally, finally, being filled by James again. He was too focused on the pleasure to care, at this point. His legs wrapped themselves around his calves, fingers digging into his shoulders, mapping out the feel of James above him and finding that it was exactly as he had remembered. As much as he wanted James to move, he relished in the simple sensation of being full, his breath coming in short, stuttering gasps.

“Q,” when the name escapes him this time he’s the one who utters it like a benediction, like Q is oxygen and he’s been starving for air. Adjusting their positions, James slides an arm under Q’s shoulders and pulls him up just slightly, holding their bodies tight together and pressing a searing kiss to his lips as he begins to rock inside him. It’s not the pounding James had intended on giving him but rather something… more. Intimate, in a way vigorous fucking wasn’t. Almost sweet. His mind is empty save for the unique pleasure of Q – having him physically, emotionally close again is so beyond what James had expected. 

Q doesn't have the ability to do much more than hold on, fingers clenching and unclenching against the muscles of James' back, his legs wound tightly against him. There was still something feral about the way James was moving in him, but it was so much more than that. His hand braced across Q's shoulders was just firm enough to hold him steady, but was gentle otherwise. The kiss was searing and Q felt like he might be engulfed by it. Somehow, all their unspoken words were channeled into this one kiss, this one action, and Q was just relieved they were able to communicate in one way or another. Admittedly, this was infinitely better than just talking could ever be.

When the kiss finally broke it pulled James from his reverie and suddenly the intense need charging him couldn’t be sated by what they’d done so far. Pulling back just enough to allow for the proper movement, James dropped his head to Q’s shoulder again and began to fuck him in earnest, soft grunts and groans escaping him as he pounded Q hard into the bed. He wanted the other man to keen under him, to dissolve into nothing but his need, feel nothing but the sensation of James moving inside him. It was with that intense fixity of purpose that James continued, murmuring quiet nothings into the skin of Q’s shoulder as he rode the crest of his arousal closer and closer to climax. 

James was a man who got what he wanted and this was no different; feeling the change of pace, Q moved beneath him, doing his best to take him in deeper. A litany of breathless gasps, whimpers, and moans echoed in the air between them, and his nails dug into the marred skin of James' back, echoing the marks on his own shoulders. He didn't even need to be touched to be brought to the edge, though he was desperate for it, desperate for James to touch him, to be the one who brought him over. "James, please, touch me, James," he murmured, voice breaking at the breathless pleasure. "Make me come, please, James-"

In an instant James had his hand wrapped tight around Q’s cock, fist moving not quite in time with the snap of his hips but setting a complimentary pace. The head was already shiny and wet with precome and James had no trouble collecting it in his hand and using it to ease the slide of his fingers. That done he set up a brutal pace, pounding into Q hard enough that the bed groaned in protest and they were both going to be sporting bruises in a few hours. “It’s okay,” he whispered then through gritted teeth, suspended above Q and taking in the site of him, watching the way he reacted to every movement, “come for me Q.”

The sensory overload was like a punch to the gut. All Q could do was hold on, his back bowed, grip slipping between boneless and bone-breaking at random intervals. His head was thrown back, chest heaving with each breath, everything all coming together at once. James barely had time to get the words out before Q was pushed over the edge. He cried out sharply, James' name on his lips as he thrust up into his hand, half sobbing at the intensity of it as he rode out his orgasm, body clenching around James' cock inside him.

In control as always James managed to stave off his orgasm for a minute more, still thrusting hard into the open, willing man below him. Head bowed he was like some primal animal, nothing but instinct and need driving him, taking Q with an intensity far beyond most humans. When, finally, James spent himself it was with a gasped curse and Q’s name on his lips. It took a long moment to collect himself, tilt his head back up, and regard the beautiful man below him. The thing of it all was… he couldn’t help the way the sight drew a genuine smile from him.

Q was truly boneless now, arms and legs slack on either side of him, barely keeping himself up as James fucked into him. He was oversensitive, tremors working their way through his body, breath catching in his throat as he felt James come moments later. Overworked, his limbs quivered, and he completely lacked the energy to keep himself still. Q knew he would be well beyond sore later, but all he could think of was that he was finally where he belonged.


	31. Let Me Leave Or Let Me Love You

With a grunt of effort James levered himself off Q and managed to sink gracefully into the sheets beside him. Reaching down he fetched the blankets in one hand and pulled them up, ensuring Q was fully covered before draping the sheet over his waist. Without a word he stretched out on his back and coaxed Q into his arms, letting the younger man’s head pillow on his shoulder. Head turned in, James breathed deep and allowed himself another smile as his eyes drifted closed – Q still used the same shampoo. It even managed to smell like coming home.

Q's body trembled for minutes after James pulled him into his arms, the aftershocks slowly losing their intensity until he could relax. He was already half asleep, but he forced his eyes open anyway, planting a sleepy kiss on James' shoulder before he looked up at his face. If he couldn't feel their encounter in the very marrow of his bones, he would almost think this was a dream. He had missed James so much it was excruciating, and it hit him harder than it had while he'd been gone. A puff of air escaped him as he bowed his head, letting his hair fall in his face so James couldn't see how stupidly effected he was. All his guards were down now, and the emotions were seeping back into him.

Listening to the quiet rustle of the sheets as Q arranged himself to his satisfaction James felt something sweep over him he hadn’t had in a very long time: contentment. Lifting one hand he lazily trailed it through Q’s hair, lightly tickling at his scalp and just enjoying the sensation of being so easily close with him again. When he caught Q’s vivid green eyes and say how, for just a brief moment, they looked startled James swept his other hand up to brush Q’s bangs away from his face, “Q?”

Of course James had noticed; he noticed everything. Q sighed and shifted slightly until he was perfectly comfortable. "We're both too exhausted to talk just yet, James. Get some sleep." He could say it now, just explain that he was overwhelmed by everything, but that would necessitate the rest of the conversation looming over them. He wanted to enjoy this for as long as he could, this quiet peacefulness between them before the inevitable tempest struck. They were both stubborn men, terrible with expressing emotions, and it was bound to turn sour once more. Q could only hope that this encounter had managed to heal most of their respective wounds before they began again.

At that James sighed softly, a puff of air through his nose, as he tried to decide whether or not it merited arguing. Without too much effort he came to the same realization Q did – it was so peaceful, so rare to have a moment like this that he wasn’t ready to ruin it yet. “Okay,” he spoke quietly, the low rumble of his voice melding in well with the serenity around them. Laying back, James pressed one last kiss to Q’s forehead before settling in for a very welcome rest.

It's early morning when Q wakes. He's warm, more comfortable than he can remember being, and it's almost pleasant in a way waking up never is. But the more awake he becomes, the more aware he is of the soreness in his body and with sudden realization, his eyes open and he is greeted with the sight of James' bare chest. Confusion melted into overwhelming gratitude as he looked up and confirmed that yes, it was James, not one of the men he'd fucked to replace him - not that any of them ever stayed the night anyway. 

The other man was asleep, and he looked as peaceful as Q could remember seeing him. The lines of his face had softened considerably and he looked younger. Q smiled and enjoyed the view for a few moments before he carefully extracted himself from bed. It was easy to do without waking James - the other man wasn't holding onto him, so he just slid sideways until he was out of bed. Q paused to pull on a robe before he let himself out of his bedroom and into the kitchen, intent on making some tea for himself and coffee for James.

Attuned as he was to the world around him, even in sleep, James woke almost the exact same moment that Q slid off the bed – the change in the weight distribution around him was enough to rouse him from his slumber. But just as quickly his mind provided him with the required information - where he was, his current status, and his most recent activity. Assured of his security James rolled half over, until he could open his eyes and watch Q wrap himself in an absurdly fluffy robe. It was a wonderful sight to wake to. He took him time rising after Q left, brushing the wrinkles out of his slacks the best he could; they really weren’t meant for sleeping in. That done he followed Q to the kitchen shirtless and barefoot, smiling softly as he leaned against the doorframe to watch. 

Q heard the door open and turned to face James. Upon seeing the smile he wore, Q felt his lips quirk up too. He gestured at the percolator, "Coffee?" before turning back to tend to the kettle with his tea. Q didn't normally eat breakfast this early, and wasn't planning on it until his stomach rumbled ominously. "There are eggs and bacon in the refrigerator if you'd be so kind," he added, turning his head once more to catch another glimpse of James before he turned his focus back to preparing their drinks, still smiling to himself.

James nodded at that, pleased Q still kept the percolator on hand after all this time – he never drank coffee himself, always kept the machine on hand for James. Moving silently he found the requested items in the fridge and set himself upon the cupboards, curious to see if Q had rearranged them in his absence. Also pleasantly surprised to find that no, everything was exactly as he remembered, James fetched a frying pan and began the process of making breakfast. 

Once the percolator and the kettle were settled, Q turned to see James with the frying pan. Frowning slightly, he reached out, intent on taking it from him. "You don't have to cook, James. I still remember how you like your bacon and eggs." His tone was light, and Q was smiling again by the time he was finished speaking. He'd been worried that they would go back to tip-toeing around the abyss between them, but it seemed that their encounter last night had done its job. What had been a chasm was something he could see the other side of, now, and that had him in high spirits.

At that James chuckled, brushing him off with a gentle hand, “I enjoy cooking.” It was true, during his infrequent downtime James had grown fond of creating something instead of destroying it. “Don’t worry,” the smell of the bacon crisping up had James’s mouth watering, already eager for breakfast, “I’ll remember to scramble yours.” Working with a deft hand James scrambled the eggs in the pan, knowing Q preferred it that way as it kept them light and fluffy. It was easy, being here this morning. In James’s eyes they didn’t have to talk about anything else at all, though he was fairly certain Q was going to need to eventually. 

Deciding it wasn't worth the argument, Q simply nodded and turned back around, keeping an eye on their tea and coffee and enjoying the companionable silence between them. Sure enough, James remembered every detail about him, down to the fact that he preferred his eggs scrambled in the pan rather than in a bowl and his bacon just this side of burned. Once the kettle whistled and the coffee was finished, he poured their drinks and made his way to the table, getting out of James' way while he finished up their breakfast. Q found most domesticity to be boring, but right now it was the only thing he wanted for the foreseeable future; just him and James, in his flat, cooking breakfast and enjoying each other's company.

With drinks set at the table, James made quick work of poaching his own eggs and crisping his bacon to brown rather than black and loaded two plates with the finished meals. Setting each one down in front of its accompanying drink he allowed himself a small smile – the easy pride of a simple job well done. “Eat, Q,” before taking his own seat James retreated to the bedroom just long enough to grab his shirt – he wasn’t enough of a barbarian to sit at the dining room table bare chested. Taking his own fork in hand, James broke his egg yolks and used the back of the utensil to smear it across his bacon before taking his first bite. 

The meal passed in much the same way as cooking it had, in comfortable, companionable silence. They had so easily slipped back into the patterns that had been there before James left that it was so easy for Q to believe there had been no time lost at all. In fact, Q was so comfortable that he caught himself almost saying something he belatedly realized he'd never actually said aloud before. The way his own mind had gotten ahead of itself made him laugh, the sound short and sharp. During the year James had been away, Q had come to the conclusion that the only reason the other man's absence had shattered him so completely was because he'd been in love. He'd accepted that as fact, and it became such a part of him. So much so, that in this moment where everything felt complete, Q almost said it off-hand, as though it was something he said all the time.

Looking up from his meal, James cocked his head slightly at Q’s sudden laugh. Quirking an eyebrow up the double oh waited patiently, not needing words to ask Q a question. Setting his fork down with a quiet clink against Q’s glass tabletop James kept his gaze focused, studying the younger man’s eyes. Beautiful like the rest of him, startling in their brilliance – fittingly enough, also just like the rest of him. There were days, most of them to be honest, that James had no idea what his young, talented, genius of a Quartermaster saw in an old, washed up, and broken agent. They were of two different words, really, and James was pretty sure he mattered in Q’s only on borrowed time. But that was okay, with this man he was willing to take what he could get. 

Q shook his head, worried that if he came right out and said it, it might scare James away. Even though Q was fairly certain, after everything James had said and what had passed between them, actually telling the other man how he felt outright was a different matter altogether. The last person who had told James she loved him had betrayed him, and Q didn't want to be linked to Vesper. At least not right now. "I was just amused by how well the domestic life suits you," Q lied smoothly, smiling as he met James' eyes before he brought his tea up and took a sip.

James let that go with a rueful smile and short shake of his head. “You can’t call me domestic until you see me with a vacuum cleaner, Quartermaster.” Finishing his breakfast, James stood and cleared their dishes before returning to his coffee mug and draining the remaining liquid within it. That done and the mug deposited in the sink as well, James turned to head back for the bedroom, intent on trying his best to freshen up before heading out in public, “Any chance you happen to have a suit my size in your possession?” 

Q laughed again, though this time it was more genuine, eyes brighter as the darkness that had been settling over him passed. He let James work and took small sips of his tea, enjoying it. When James turned back toward the bedroom, Q assumed he would be making his way to the bathroom instead. However, the other man's words caught him off guard and the darkness returned to his eyes. He kept his expression neutral, though, setting his mug down carefully. "I don't even have a suit up to your standards in my own size. There are a few sweaters that have been stretched out that might work, though."

The only response that came – James blowing air out through his nose in a gesture that clearly meant he’d rather go naked – made it clear sweaters were not anywhere near his list of acceptable clothing items. Vanishing into the bedroom he stopped in front of Q’s full length mirror and took the time to groom himself, straightening hair and adjusting cuffs, grateful for the high quality of his suit and the fact it didn’t wrinkle easily. He had hoped that the comment would have been taken lightly but he noticed the darkness in Q’s eyes the moment he spoke. Hopefully this bit of a pause would let it blow over before it escalated into something more.

With a soft sigh, Q stood and began washing the dishes from breakfast. James had his own priorities, and given how adverse he was to talking, Q shouldn't be surprised if he intended to put it off a little bit longer. He didn't really think James was going to run off again, that he was just using him as an outlet, but his apparent urge to leave so quickly still brought up old wounds that hadn't had the chance to heal just yet. Resigning himself to patience, Q let the tension leaking out of him, focusing on the dishes rather than the brewing storm. There was no reason to rush - James was here, he wasn't going anywhere, he had promised.

Once he was reasonably pleased with his appearance, James padded back into the living area, bare feet quiet on the rug. Coming into the kitchen he took a moment to appreciate the fact that Q was just… there. In his presence, within arm’s length, close enough to study the whorl of hair that curled peculiarly around his right ear. Stepping in closer James allowed himself another moment of affection, wrapping his arms around Q’s waist and holding him close. “Tell me what you need from me, Q,” he ordered then, voice soft even with the strictness of the words. 

When James returned, Q continued working, testing his resolve as he prepared himself to hear the other man say goodbye. Even as he felt James' arms around him, he still assumed it was a parting gesture - though one that lightened his mood considerably. He hadn't expected James to say what he did, though - that would begin the conversation they'd been avoiding, wouldn't it? Slowly, he lowered the mug he'd been rinsing, then turned off the water and dried his hands. Having taken the time to gather himself, he turned to face James, studying his expression with his analytical gaze before he spoke. "You hurt me. When you left. I need you to know why." When he got down to it, when he actually thought about the words he needed to say, Q realized there actually wasn't much left. He'd been angry, he'd been heartbroken, and he'd already told James about it. The only thing left to say were the three words that had nearly escaped him that morning.

Though he didn’t free Q from his arms, James left him plenty of space to move about as he wanted and kept his hands linked loosely enough that Q could break free if he wished. He hadn’t really wanted to have this conversation, not now or ever, but he had seen the tension still limning Q’s form as he reentered the kitchen. They had been calm and happy that morning; hopefully that would manage to spill over and keep their next discussion rational. Keeping his eyes trained on Q, James’s legendary focus was brought to bear, the agent intent on making sure Q felt heard and acknowledged. “I know I did,” he admitted then, knowing there was freedom in such a thing. With that he waited, knowing now was the time to let Q speak.

Hearing James acknowledge it was like a balm and Q closed his eyes to let it sink in, feeling part of the weight he'd been carrying lift. It hadn't been his intention for James to acknowledge it when he said it, but the look in his eyes when he opened them again conveyed how grateful he was to hear his pain acknowledged. "I know, as well as I can, why you did what you did," he started, wanting to acknowledge that, while James had hurt him, he knew that it was for self-preservation. "And I'm sorry that I pushed you away when you called. I know that wasn't easy for you." For as much of a balm as the simple four words James had spoken were to him, Q could only hope that his own words had the same effect. "...I tried not to," he started again, taking the time to choose his words carefully. "But I suppose it was inevitable. I loved you then, and I love you now. I suppose that's what made me so irrational." Well, nothing like ripping off the band aid, he supposed.

It was all true, wasn’t it? Calling Q had been a thousand times harder than leaving him because calling had required being honest with his own feelings. He had thought Madeline would be some magical cure all, an innocent girl with an easy life he could sink into like a cloud, blinding him to reality as he had lived it since he was a young man. When that façade crumbled around him Q seemed like the only out. Having ones hopes and dreams dashed through the electric static of a phone line had taken more of a toll on James’s self-worth than he’d cared to admit. But that was behind them now and there were better things to come, James believed that. 

If someone had asked him James probably would have said that hearing Q admit to loving him for the first time would come as a surprise. How strange, the reality, that when the words came they sounded as normal as someone commenting on the weather. Of course Q loved him, James loved him in return. That’s why they’d hurt one another and why they’d both tried to bridge the gap. It wasn’t easy but it felt right. “I love you too,” the words hung softly in the air, as though suspended on fishing line, delicate and light, though they were undercut with the strength of certainty. There was nothing else James felt the need to say.


	32. You Always Turn My Head Around

Q had been prepared to defend his words, to remind James that he wasn't Vesper, he wasn't going to leave, wasn't going to put James through the myriad scenarios that could go wrong and probably had in the agent's life. When James simply replied in kind, Q found himself with a multitude of things to say that had nothing to do with where the conversation had gone. He released the breath he'd been holding and nodded. "Good." It wasn't nearly enough to express the strength of what he felt, but it was the first word that came to mind.

"I mean, that's-" what was he supposed to say now? Somehow in the last twelve hours, they'd come to an almost complete understanding of each other without the need to say much else at all. Q swallowed heavily, realizing he must look like an idiot. "I'm bloody terrible at this," he admitted, hoping what worked last night would work now. He pressed himself against James' chest, winding his arms around his waist and listening to his heart beat.

Q’s admittance at being almost as bad with his feelings as James was earned a quiet laugh from the other man. Wrapping his arms tight around Q’s back in return, James closed his eyes and just let himself exist in the moment. It was hard, as always, but this was one thing he wanted to experience without all the nagging doubt about his future and other people’s motivations. Q had proven solid and steady over their time together, both as agent and quartermaster, tentative lovers, and now… whatever this was going to turn into. 

But there were still some things that needed be brought out into the open. Things he was pretty sure Q knew but that he needed to ensure were heard crystal clear, “This isn’t going to be easy, Q. Being with me.” He trails off then, struggling as usual with any kind of honest conversation, but he pushed through it because for Q it was worth the effort, “There are things… history…” James shakes his head, sighing in frustration at his unusual fumble for words, “… I’m not an easy man. To know, to lead, or to be with.”

"I know, James. But you're worth it," Q replied, his head still resting against James' shoulder. He meant the words in ways he knew he could never express. "I'm not afraid of a challenge," he said at length, lifting his head to meet James' steady gaze. "I'm not afraid of you." Though he had already been hurt by the other man, Q knew he was not the type of person who made the same mistake twice. There would be other arguments, other difficulties, but as long as Q knew James was coming back, that he loved him, it was worth it. They were compatible in more ways than they weren't, even though there was no reason for that to be true. Q had lost him once, and he wasn't going to let history repeat itself.

“You think that now,” the waver in his eyes made it clear James had concerns – not about Q, necessarily, but about himself and his ability not to ruin it between the two of them, “but I can promise you things haven’t been hard yet.” Even taking Madeline into account James meant that. With her, he and Q hadn’t been anything official and all he’d done was run. He knew himself, the darkness always lurking just beneath the surface that usually only showed when he was alone. He knew how he could react when things imploded around him, when missions went wrong, when he failed to protect someone. Though he didn’t often admit it James knew he was an alcoholic, knew it was driven by those dark times, and knew the cruelty that could bring out in him. He didn’t believe Q had any idea about the full extent of any of it. 

Though Q hadn't seen it all for himself, he'd heard the stories. He knew he couldn't really understand until he experienced it for himself, but he still wasn't afraid. They'd both hurt each other and maybe James would do most of the hurting, but Q wasn't the kind of person who ran away when things got hard. If things were difficult for James, it was with good reason. He could never even conceive of doing half the things the other man was asked to do on a daily basis, and as much as he tried to believe he wasn't human, Q knew better. James was just as humans as he was, maybe even more so after all the trauma and loss he'd endured. He deserved to have someone at his side, unwavering. If it was hard, so be it. It couldn't be any more difficult than the things James had already suffered. "I told you, James. I'm not afraid of you."

A rueful smile touched James’s lips, “Maybe you should be.” But he let the conversation drop at that – he’d warned Q and the younger man had stuck to his guns. It wasn’t up to James to babysit him or make his decisions for him. He only hoped Q meant it, that he would find it in himself to stick around when things got bad. Hell, Q hadn’t even lived through one of his nightmares yet, the kind that either woke him up covered in sweat, a choked scream clawing at his throat or found him on his feet with a gun in his hand before he’d even managed to open his eyes. There were a million things about James that suggested any potential partner should run and run fast, the body count of previous lovers the most visible of them all. 

Q truly believed that James was a good man, that he deserved someone who was loyal to him, who wouldn't run. He'd already made the mistake of turning him away once; he promised himself, here and now, he'd never do it again. "So..." he trailed off, lips quirking up at the corners, though he wasn't quite smiling. "I'm ready to put this behind us if you are. I'd hazard a guess that moving on will be much more pleasant than this awkward in-between we've been experiencing." More pleasant was a vast understatement if last night was anything to go by, but Q wasn't about to stroke James' ego much more than that. He loved the other man, but he could be insufferable when he was overconfident.

The warmth in James’s laugher settled comfortably around them. Both men knew James wasn’t one who enjoyed talking at all, much less about the emotional mess they’d found themselves in the last year. The sooner they could move on the happier he would be. Yet he was grateful for what they had managed to say – the air did feel clearer, their intent more certain. Leaning in James closed the distance between them to lay a soft kiss on Q’s lips, almost chaste in its sweetness. 

Q returned the kiss eagerly, though he didn't seek to deepen it or turn it into anything other than what it was - soft and sweet and the mark of a new beginning for them. It was strange to him, how little time and how few words it had taken for the certainty he felt to settle in. James loved him. He was one of the most loyal men he had ever known, and he loved him. He did not say things he did not mean, or make promises he wouldn't die to keep. When he pulled back, there was a fully formed smile on his lips. "Now that that's settled, was there something you needed to do?"

The smile on Q’s face was mirrored by the warmth shining in James’s eyes, but they turned quizzical as James tried to puzzle out what Q was hinting at and kept falling short. “Not that I’d planned, no,” he finally admitted, wondering what he was missing and miffed to be doing so – he was usually sharp and astute. He shook his head as though he could banish his confusion and ran the pad of his thumb over Q’s jaw, “Did you have something in mind?”

Q lifted his wrist in response. "House arrest, remember? I assumed you had somewhere to go when you asked about the suit." Seeing James' response, Q felt foolish for getting so upset over what must have been a teasing comment about his wardrobe - or his stature. Or both. He shook his head and leaned back against the counter. "If you didn't have any plans, you could stay here for today. Unless you're worried you'll be too bored." There was a challenge in his expression, his own subtle dig at James for how he was always itching to get back out in the field. He hoped that would change, that this relationship would give the other man a reason to come home and enjoy his down time

“Ah,” James shook his head then, the short, sharp movement of someone vaguely amused by whatever suggestion was put forth, “no. I don’t make a habit of wearing yesterday’s clothing.” That was all of it; James hated looking anything but crisp and clean when he was in London, where he could be reasonably sure he’d stay that way. Sure, maybe he’d had a quiet hope that Q had hung onto him that visibly while he was gone but regardless it was clear they would be staying together from here on out.

"You know, I wasn't lying when I said I probably had a few sweaters that would fit you," Q replied, shifting as though he meant to go get one. "If you insist on not wearing yesterday's clothing..." He was fairly certain James would die before he put on one of his sweaters, but Q couldn't fathom why. They were warm and comfortable and not nearly as hideous as the other man made them out to be. The idea of James wearing something of his made him feel oddly warm, and he felt himself flush at how foolish it was to be so taken by something so ordinary.

With a barking laugh, James caught Q tight around the waist and lifted him up, setting the other man on the counter and boxing him in, making it impossible for him to fetch any sweaters. “My suit jacket is perfectly fine,” having been removed at the door when he first arrived, James’s jacket maintained its sharp creases and wrinkle free surface, “and I’m certain none of your pants would fit me.” Avoiding the fact that his white dress shirt could use a dry cleaning, James pressed forward into the space between Q’s legs to silence any response with another kiss.

Q's sharp intake of breath told James all he needed to know concerning how he felt about being picked up and manhandled so easily, but he was determined not to come off as being easy. He leaned into the kiss, though, his arms wrapping themselves loosely around James' torso. Q broke the kiss after a few moments, pulling back only enough to tilt his head and look down at James. "Do you ever wear anything other than a suit? Outside of being undercover or blending in, of course."

The initial urge – to response with a comment about what a daft notion that was – James managed to quash, instead responding with the much politer, “Why would I?” He was a gentleman after all, regardless of his license to kill. While he had grown fond of Q’s determination to follow through on his hipster old man aesthetic it certainly wasn’t anything James would don himself. He felt clean in a good suit, as though he didn’t make a living murdering people.

"Suits are stuffy," Q replied simply. He pulled James in for another kiss before shifting to slide off the counter. "And before you distract me any further, I need to feed the cats." Their day stretched on like that, filled with the sort of domestic peace Q had never expected himself to grow fond of. Shortly thereafter, M had his bracelet removed, his travel unrestricted, and Q did his best to appear penitent. In reality, the entire time James was waiting to be cleared for field duty he didn't plan on leaving his house when he wasn't working anyway.


	33. What You Live For

James was finally cleared after M had gone over his debrief and reviewed the files of the mission he had inadvertently disrupted. 003 even met with him, explaining that he had no hard feelings against the former 007, but would very much prefer being on the same team. In the end, the review was just for show, and M cleared James for active duty. 

Although he insisted it wasn't required, M eased James back into life as a double-oh. His first mission was a simple one; he was to escort the daughter of the Syrian Prime Minister to a safe location in Switzerland. Q guided him through with precision and poise, the only indication that there was anything between them was in the fond way he said '007'. 

Patience was never his strong suit and waiting had taken a toll on James – it chafed at him like something physical, his forced inaction. The only thing that got him through it with any semblance of grace was Q. Happy, brilliant, witty Q. James had been in love before, the kind of love that tore his heart and his head to shreds when it died in his arms, but this was different. With Q it wasn’t all consuming; it wasn’t the kind of thing that drove him to make grand promises or plan on changing primary facets of his identity. With Q it was a sense of security, of safety, of calm in the otherwise tempestuous ocean of his existence. With Q it was certainty that when he came home someone would be waiting for him. It wasn’t a rollercoaster, filled with the highest of highs slamming down into the most terrifying of lows. It was faith. And, well… faith was something James hadn’t had in a very long time. 

Chafing at his bonds as he was, James welcomed the mission even if it had the distinct reek of training wheels attached. The Syrian woman was beautiful and he flirted easily, though when she made eyes at him and slid a hand up his thigh on the airplane he only smiled softly, captured her hand, and planted soft kisses on her fingertips before setting her palm down on her own lap. For Q monogamy outside of his missions came easily, without much conscious thought on James’s part. The man was worth waiting for. When he saw her safely to the security of her country’s embassy in Switzerland James let the mission conclude with a satisfied smile – it felt damn good to be back, “Asset at destination, safe and secure. Tell me you already have my flight home booked.”

"007, think of who you're talking to before you ask such inane questions," Q replied dryly, though there was an edge of fondness in his tone. "Your tickets will be waiting for you at the airport. I suggest you hurry if you want to make it in time; the next flight doesn't leave for another 12 hours." 'Hurry back home to me' went unspoken, but it was very much implied. Q was fairly certain James would understand without it needing to be so explicitly expressed. "Will that be all, 007?" he asked, for once checking in before his customary sign off.

“You’re a good kid, Q,” James’s cheek was back in full force – he still got a kick out of reminding Q of his relative youth and very rarely missed an opportunity. “007 disconnecting,” with that, James plucked his earpiece free and did his best to avoid actually running to the nearest cab. The ride home was uneventful and short, both very welcome in James’s opinion. By the time his plane landed at Heathrow he had the next three nights (M willing) planned out and looked forward to thoroughly debauching Q on each one. 

From there on out it was like a whirlwind, James spending more of his time than ever before at Q’s flat, missions quickly growing more important and difficult and James’s success mounting with each one. It was like a new lease on life for the agent, the opportunity to be in the field and useful again so desperately needed and valuable to him he was even managing to behave for the most part. Before he realized it, months had passed, seven of them, and he’d been back half as long as he’d been gone. 

That brought him to the here and now, prone and manning a rocket launcher in the middle of the Saudi Arabian desert, eyes watchful for the coming dust storm that would signify approaching vehicles. Since he had “cocked it up” so spectacularly before, according to M, James had been sent out to complete 003’s failed mission and take out the Saudi prince. It was a delicate operation; he needed to disable the vehicle to even have a chance at the man inside and doing so was going to require a pretty spectacular shot. 

Q did not like Saudi Arabia. It didn't take much for him to decide that; he'd already felt that way on 003's initial mission and the feeling only grew as he struggled to keep James in his sight via satellite. He did have James wired, though, so he could at least see what the agent saw. It was somewhat helpful, though Q hated that he couldn't properly watch his back. His words were clipped, shoulders tense as he did his best to monitor the area for James, R over his shoulder as a second set of eyes. "Two vehicles heading your way, 6 kilometers out." he warned as soon as he saw them come into view, doing his best to zoom in. "They'll be coming up on your 2 o'clock. Move about a meter and a half to your left and you'll have sufficient cover."

James did as he was told, shifting the massive weapon as quickly and gently as he could – it would do no good to kick up a dust cloud of his own and give away his location. Taking a deep breath he murmured confirmation of his new position into the microphone and took aim as directed, the cloud coming into view for him not long after that. It was a tense few moments as he waited for the convoy to come in range. As the silence stretched taut over the comm line, James took focus through the sight of his launcher and – finally – alerted Q just as the visceral kickback from the weapon’s discharge pretty much drowned out his voice anyway, “Target fired upon.”

When his Q-Division designed and perfected weapon did exactly as it was supposed to – put the ammunition directly where James had wanted it – he was up and running. There was no guarantee that the rocket did the final job; it was going to require gunning down whoever was still alive and rummaging through the wreckage to ensure the prince was down for the count. There were some missions – like this one – James was irritated England wouldn’t just bomb them from above. But that would be too obvious, wouldn’t it? Offing any member of a royal dynasty was always delicate work. 

In an instant, things went sideways. As James rounded on the second vehicle in the convoy and yanked the door open to dispatch whoever was inside he felt gravity take hold as he fell to his ass and gasped as he looked down. That was blood on his shirt. His blood, it must have been, he hadn’t discharged his own gun yet. He’d been shot? How? He’d been vigilant, taken the proper angle of approach, knew that those in the convoy should have been disoriented by the explosion that completely demolished one of the two vehicles. How in the world had he gotten shot?

"No visible hostiles," Q replied once the weapon had been fired. The first vehicle took the brunt of the damage, having exploded backward, landing on the hood of the second vehicle, the one that likely contained the target. Still, just because they hadn't gotten out of the car didn't mean they weren't there. He did his best to scrutinize both the footage from the satellite and that of the camera rigged to James, but it was hard to see through the clouds of dust that still hadn't settled. The dust would provide James with some cover, though, and he had a fairly decent view of the van door so that if anyone did exit he would be able to see it.

As James rounded the back of the vehicle and Q still saw no sign of movement, he let himself hope for a moment that there wouldn't be a gunfight for once. However, before the door had even fully opened - had James even pulled the handle? - he heard a gunshot, the unmistakable sound of a bullet hitting flesh. Q leaned forward, immediately scanning the area all around James - the door of the van was still closed, and no one had gotten out of it. "007?! Status report. What happened?" Q demanded tersely, manipulating the direction of the camera James was wearing as he gestured to R to try and get a closer look with the satellite.

He could hear Q distantly in his ear, the chatter fading in and out like bad static on the radio. Pressing a hand to his wound James did his best to run a quick field assessment and get himself back on his feet. Gut shot, probably why it bled so badly. Reaching around himself, James probed at the flesh of his back and found the exit wound – it was a though and though then. Finally able to understand Q and muster together the necessary words, James spoke as clearly as he could, “I took a direct hit. Left abdomen, through and through, bleeding profuse. 007 attempting to field dress the wound and continue the mission.”


	34. Your Feet Sink Into The Ground

Q was still trying to determine where in the hell the shot came from in the first place, replaying the footage, before he noticed a small coil of smoke that wound up from the door. "Bloody fucking - 007, stand down, do not attempt to open the door again." It was smart and Q had no idea how they did it. His paranoia about his agents being in remote places did pay off - he'd made sure to have a medical team and a recovery team nearby to make up for his lack of a full visual on the situation. "I'm sending in the medical team. Confirm that you intend to comply with your stand down order, 007," Q demanded, his body tense as he continued scanning the live feed.

Packing the wound best he could with his own shirt James shook his head even though he wasn’t entirely sure Q could see, “I’m finishing this mission.” Binding the wound off with his belt, James shoved himself bodily to his feet and took his Walther back in hand, slowly inching around to the side of the vehicle. Though he was certain the glass was bulletproof his next attempt would involve at least trying to get in through the windows. 

"The vehicle is rigged, 007. When you pulled the handle, it discharged a bullet. I am ordering you to stand down." While Q wanted the certainty that would only come once James did open the van to confirm the target had been neutralized, he also didn't want to take the chance that trying to shoot his way in would set off a bomb or another bullet. "Move back to your cover position. I'll tell you if anyone attempts to exit the vehicle. If you can shoot down a helicopter from a boat, I'm fairly certain you'll be able to make this shot with the added bonus of being in a relatively safe location. Or have my assessments of your marksmanship been skewed?" He hoped that by goading James the other man would obey.

Though he didn’t feel guilty about it, per say, James felt an obligation to see this mission through that ran a bit stronger than most. He had been the one to foul it up the first time, after all. Gritting his teeth, James ignored the orders in his ear and took aim down the length of the vehicle, discharging his weapon once to see how the bullet faired against the passenger side window. 

When the glass cracked but didn’t shatter James muttered a quiet curse – of course it was bullet proof but still: nothing could ever be easy. Whatever they had rigged the damn vehicle with the gun couldn’t be omnidirectional. Sliding up along the side of the cargo van James reached out, keeping himself pressed flat against the hot metal as his fingers curled around the door handle. He flexed his hand then, pulling it open.

When the gun fired, Q flinched, waiting for something to happen. When nothing did, he clenched his fists and forced himself to remain professional. "007, that was a direct order. If you screw up this mission again, I will personally make sure you spend at least a month alone at your flat in the hopes that will provide you with enough time to reflect on the seriousness of your insubordination." To anyone else the threat was that James would be off duty and confined which everyone knew he hated. But between the two of them, it was a very personal message that if James continued - especially if he got himself injured further - Q was going to be upset enough to deny him entry to his own flat. 

Obviously, the stubborn agent was still ignoring him and Q felt his chest constrict as he watched the video feed from James' body camera. The door wasn't even opened when he heard the sound of another bullet and he ground his teeth in frustration. "007, are you hit?" he asked, ignoring his urge to order another stand down.

“No,” came the clipped response. James was trying to focus on completing this mission even through the mounting pain of his bullet wound and Q wasn’t helping, “007 disconnecting.” Without waiting for a response James plucked the transmitter from his ear and dropped it on the ground, crushing it into tiny pieces with the heel of his boots. He was going to see this mission through. Automatic fire or not, James was pleased to find that the door still opened to his touch now that the bullet had been discharged. 

Flinging the door open James stepped in range and fired two shots – both of them scoring a deep and lethal furrow through the foreheads of the two men in the front seats. There was a good chance they had been dead already but James wasn’t going to take any further risk. The rest of the mission went messy but ended the way England needed it to. All that was left for James was the prince himself and one guard in the back – the guard went easy; sitting behind the driver as he had been James took the easy shot afforded to him. The prince was a little harder. Alive but still dazed he was smart enough to put up a fight, dropping his head down below the seat to make himself a more difficult target. 

As James ripped the dead passenger out of the vehicle and onto the ground he kept his wits about himself, knowing there was probably a gun in the prince’s hands. Sure enough when he quickly poked a hand inside he heard a shot ring out and the bullet whizzed harmlessly past him. But he managed, dispatching the target by simply rapid fire shooting through the seat until something hit home. He heard the gun clatter to the ground when the man’s now lifeless hand dropped it in death. 

Sinking into the bullet riddled leather James pressed a hand to his stomach and sighed, eyes drifting closed as he started to fade out of consciousness. “Target neutralized, mission complete,” he whispered, words half slurred as the world went sideways around him and he collapsed against the console, world going black around him.

Seething wasn't quite a strong enough sentiment at the moment. Q's hands were clenched in fury, eyes still scanning the satellite and body camera feeds. Nothing and no one else appeared and no bombs went off. Still, he was furious, and as soon as James was able to get into the van without being blown up, he turned away from the screens. "The medical and recovery teams are five minutes out. You can take it from here, R," he said as he left, his tone too clipped to be taken as merely professional annoyance. It was childish, perhaps, to leave so suddenly. Then again, R was completely qualified to have run the entire mission from start to finish and M was always telling him he needed to delegate.

Regardless of his anger, Q still took a tablet with him so he could monitor James' vitals. A through and through to his gut was not a minor injury and Q had to force himself not to panic. He'd been too strung out on adrenaline while guiding James on the mission to have truly felt fear when he was initially shot but that was quickly fading. Targets eliminated or not, the other man was nowhere near safe just yet. Q's mind was already supplying him with all the ways James could die from that bullet wound, depending on which organs were damaged.

Realizing it was impossible to force his mind to stop working, Q rerouted himself to the shooting range. He'd been meaning to test out the new bullets that ballistics had recently come out with and the physical nature of this particular distraction was more likely to get him out of his head.


	35. Changing Like The Current

When the room came into focus around him James groaned, lifting his head to take stock of his surroundings. A medical ward, he could tell by the white and the light and the antiseptic smell. The extraction team must have gotten to him then. “Well done,” he murmured to nobody in particular as he wrestled himself into a sitting position to poke and pry at his wound. He was still alive now so he figured whatever was wrong he’d live through that as well.

Q stayed in the shooting range for hours, long after he got word that James had been patched up and would have been down a kidney if he hadn't already had it removed from a previous injury. It cleared his head, although he wasn't any less angry. The worry he'd felt faded and the frustration took its place. James would be back in three days, and he intended to show him he made good on his threats. 

By the time James returned to London, Q had changed the security settings so that the other man couldn't just let himself into his flat. Q was also very careful to be absent after James had been in to see medical as his next stop was to Q-Division to turn in his kit. He was still angry, though the frothing rage had turned itself into something more akin to a roiling indignation. He didn't want to make a scene. James would find him eventually, when he was ready.

James was unsurprised to find Q missing from his namesake Division, though still marginally disappointed. He’d known this was going to happen though it didn’t make him any happier about it. Q had chosen not to return either of the phone calls James had placed to him either. It didn’t take a rocket scientist to realize the other man was angry. 

But he wasn’t ashamed of what he’d done. The mission, as always, took first priority. So he gave Q a couple more days to cool down before making a house call. Walking was still painful; recovery would take more than a week, but James was nothing if not stubborn. He pushed through it, even though he’d probably be scolded the next time he was forced back to medical – pulled stitches or some such, he was sure of it. Reaching Q’s door he didn’t even try the handle, instead choosing to knock. As he waited for Q to answer, James decided he wasn’t above playing on the wound for sympathy if need be.

Q knew James was at his door before the other man even knocked, having watched him approach through his security system. He considered pretending he wasn't home and would have if it wasn't for the fact that he'd missed the other man terribly and wanted to see with his own eyes that he was okay. After making him wait what he deemed an appropriate amount of time to display his vexation, Q opened the door, his expression dour. "I'm only letting you in so that the neighbors don't hear me yelling," he said after a moment, shifting so James could pass him and enter.

“Understood,” James bowed his head slightly as he entered the flat, wincing only slightly as the step down from the foyer into the living room tugged uncomfortably on his wound. Turning to Q he managed that self-same sly little smile he wore when he knew he was in trouble and thought he could charm his way out of it, “I know you’re angry, Q, but I’m fine and the mission is complete.” 

"Don't." Q's jaw was clenched as he looked at James, sorting through the various tirades he'd already planned out in the six days he's had to think about it. "When you are in the field, I need you to trust me. My job is to make sure the missions are successful and to ensure you get home in one piece. I cannot do my job if you refuse to listen to me. Just because it went right this time does not lessen the fact that you defied my orders for no good reason. The order was to stand down, not to abort. If someone came at you from behind, I had no way of warning you." Q was doing his damndest to keep his voice level, but there was undeniable anguish in the last sentence that James was sure to have heard.

As a soft sigh escaped him James studied the young man in front of him and tried to sort through the best way to explain things. It wasn’t that he didn’t trust Q, that had nothing to do with it. But as clever as he was, Q was young. He had his technology and his eyes in the sky and thought it was the end all be all. But James had been around the block a time or two and had an arsenal of his own at his disposal. He was the first to admit how useful Q’s abilities were, that they’d gotten him out of more than a few tight scrapes. But that didn’t mean he couldn’t still handle himself. “I trust you, Q,” he started, easing himself down into a chair at the kitchen table. Resting one hand on the cool glass top, James waited a moment until he was sure Q was listening before he continued on, “I need you to trust me too.”

Q narrowed his eyes, his breath huffing out through his nose. "You took an unnecessary risk. There is nothing wrong with taking a moment to reassess the situation. I trust your instincts but you didn't predict that the van was rigged and neither did I. You weren't being pursued, the target was not in danger of escaping, and you were bloody shot! Give me one good reason for disobeying my order and destroying my tech. And don't you dare say anything about your instincts or that the mission was a success because those points aren't relevant." The words left him all at once and his chest burned from the lack of air. Q's jaw was clenched so hard his teeth hurt.

James had to suppress a smile – Q had lobbed him an easy one with that question. “I was shot,” he said by way of an answer, lifting one shoulder in a lazy shrug, “I didn’t have the time to step back and reassess and you were distracting.” To be fair Q probably wasn’t going to like that last part but it was true. He couldn’t abide someone nagging in his ear while he was trying to work. Keeping up his easy attitude James was careful to stay respectful nonetheless – he was hoping his calm demeanor would rub off on Q. 

"Exactly! There was a medical and recovery team five minutes out. The very fact you were already shot only serves to prove my point, not yours. If the second bullet did hit you or something else happened, you were vulnerable. There was no need for it. None." James' calm only served to fuel the fire, feeling like he wasn't being taken seriously. "We operate as a team. You need to act like it." Normally when James went solo due to his intuition in a dicey situation, Q was more than willing to trust his judgement. In this case, though, he was beyond frustrated at the other man's blatant disregard for his own competence. He needed to know that James trusted him to make these calls.

“Medical and recovery, Q, their job is in their names. Fix me and get me out of there. Their job is not to finish mine,” James could tell that Q seemed to be raring for a fight and did his best not to provide one. If he just took the scolding with some modicum of abashed regret perhaps Q would be mollified and allow them to move on. “If you’re so angry,” he added then, “why did you wait six days to scold me?” There was a partial chance changing the subject might help.

"What do you think recovery does when an agent dies in the field? They are perfectly well qualified to open a door and fire a gun," Q replied with a scathing tone. Rather than mollifying him, the change in subject just made Q scowl. "What makes you think that wasn't a calculated punishment on my behalf? Unless I have overestimated your enjoyment of my company, which would be unfortunate but not quite surprising." If James could so easily toss aside his orders and his blatant concern over his safety, why would he think his absence in the agent's life would be any different? He had other ways to entertain himself; Q remembered that Alec was also in London so he certainly had someone to pass the time with.

The retort he had formed so quickly – He hadn’t died, had he? – died on his tongue as Q kept on berating him. James felt like Q had just slapped him across the face and he was pretty sure the shock of it showed on his own. “Pardon?” the word came out crisp and oh so cold, James’s eyes narrowing as they took in Q. He had given himself to Q wholly and convincing himself to do so had been one of the hardest hurdles he’d ever had to jump. The self-loathing he felt, the very thing that Q had helped quiet, came roaring back but it was met in equal measure by righteous anger. Clenching his hand into a fist on the table James kept his eyes locked on Q’s and fought to keep himself under control as he waited for a response. 

Belatedly, Q realized how his words could have been interpreted and he pinched the bridge of his nose, instantly feeling guilty. "Christ, James, this whole bloody thing has me twisted up in knots," he admitted, trying to do damage control as he cursed his words for getting away from him. "I only meant that just because you weren't with me doesn't mean you were alone, as I'd intended to bore you into submission." His anger trickled out of him the more guilty he felt for his careless words. "I want you to understand why I'm so angry and quit acting like this isn't important. It is to me and you're being so damned flip about it."

Though he could hear Q talking and understood the sentences he was stringing together it all sounded very far away. The anger throbbing in his veins sent a physical ache through him that made his bullet wound feel like a papercut. Without any prior indication he stood abruptly, a grimace twisting his lips down at the further strain on his wound. “Goodbye, Q,” he managed, gritting the words out between clenched teeth and barely managing to hold back everything else he could say. Whatever anyone else thought of James Bond, he knew himself. Taking this conversation any farther right now wouldn’t be anything but destructive for both of them. He plucked his jacket from the coat rack and draped it over one arm, reaching for the door handle without further preamble. 

Q's face fell, having lost control of the conversation so easily. James did warn him that he was difficult but Q blamed his carelessness for this rather than the other man’s admittedly volatile nature. He hoped that he would yell, James would get the message and promise not to do it again, and then Q could personally reassure himself that James was going to recover. He hadn't intended on making the other man angry about such an offhanded remark. He turned and followed James to the door, wanting to touch him but deciding he probably shouldn't. He wanted to tell James to stay but Q figured he lost that right when he'd upset him.

Ignoring Q at his back, James let himself out and shut the door a little harder than strictly necessary behind him. He would only admit to the anger but in truth the emotion fueling it was hurt. Did Q really think so little of him that he would doubt James’s interest even now, after everything they had gone through to get to this point? It was fucking absurd is what it was. But what the hell else could that statement have meant? ‘Unfortunate but not quite surprising,’ kept echoing in his head the entire trip back to his own flat and by the time he locked the door behind him all he wanted to do was drink himself to sleep and ensure he kept his distance from Q. James set to the first goal with a will, a glass of whisky in his hands before he’d even removed his shoes. The second goal wouldn’t be that hard anyway, he thought sourly, if Q kept up what he’d been doing for the past week.

Q watched James go, debating for a good quarter of an hour as to whether or not he should follow before deciding that it was probably safer if he let James cool down and give himself time to pick apart the conversation and figure out exactly how to fix it. Apparently, James cocked up his missions and Q made a blunder of their conversations. A perfect match, he thought to himself bitterly. For as bulletproof as James appeared to be, Q had to remember that he had a lot of demons and he shouldn't talk to him so carelessly. He still felt his initial anger was justified, but they could talk about that again once their heads were more level.


	36. Bluer Than The Tide

It took practically no thought to realize that James was avoiding Q as surely as he'd been avoiding the agent the first few days since he'd been back. He wouldn't be cleared for field duty for another several weeks as his injury healed, but Q still felt the clock ticking. He let James avoid him for another three days before he decided enough was enough and made his way to the other man's flat. Q contacted 006 first under the guise of needing to speak with 007 about some piece of tech or another, and the other man was able to confirm that he'd just spoken to James not long ago and yes, he was at his flat and in a dour mood by the sounds of it.

A bottle of whiskey per day wasn’t James’s record but even still, he would say it was a pretty solid attempt. He’d spent every moment since their encounter drunk and miserable, holed away in his flat. It was with a bitter mental laugh that he realized he was apparently giving Q exactly what he wanted. James was considering whether or not he should fetch a second bottle to keep him company during the evening when a knock sounded at his door. Scowling he levered himself up off the couch and went to answer it, carelessly setting his glass on the table and knocking over the open bottle of prescription opioids he’d been provided with by medical. He preferred to self-medicate.

For someone who was always impeccably dressed, James looked awful. Three days of stubble lined his jaw and his eyes were dark - Q could tell he'd hardly slept at all, and from what he could smell when he opened the door he had his best friend to keep him company. Whiskey, given the potency of it. He felt himself flinch, knowing his own carelessness was to blame for the state the other man was in. "James. Will you let me in?" he asked softly, hoping he wouldn't have the door shut in his face. Not like you wouldn't deserve it, idiot, he berated himself internally. Still, he could hope. He came here to try and fix things between them - again.

Silence stretched out for a long, fraught moment between them before James finally spoke, gruff and unwelcoming, “What do you want?” He was drunk, far beyond his usual functioning buzz and well into the miserable bastard phase of it all and at this point in time didn’t care who knew. The wonderful thing about being drunk was that it dulled his emotions and made him less amenable to the young man standing in front of him. 

Q stood his ground because he wasn't weak or afraid of James and because he owed it to him to apologize. "I'm sorry. What I said... I shouldn't have. I was angry. I'd like to make it up to you." Maybe he would have danced around it a little bit more if his vague words hadn't already gotten him in trouble. Q did his best to speak as plainly as possible so that there couldn't be another misunderstanding.

The fact that Q led with his apology and didn’t try to share the burden of responsibility mollified something in James, who then pulled back just enough to allow Q wordless entry into his flat. He’d been busy since he returned to MI6, spent most of his time in London at Q’s place anyway, and so this particular spot still had that “only half moved in” vibe, with a few boxes still stacked in one corner and certain pieces of furniture missing. There was a well-worn leather chair that faced the windows; it was clearly the spot James had been spending most of his time in these past three days.

James spoke even less when he was drunk, it appeared. Q shouldn't be surprised, all things considered. "Thank you," he murmured before stepping inside, letting James close the door behind him. He immediately noticed the pills strewn about and he frowned, looking from the bottle back to James, concern written across his face. It wasn't the right time to tell him this was self-destructive, but he was broadcasting his thoughts clearly enough that he didn't have to.

Pointedly ignoring Q’s gaze, James made his way back across the room, picking up his glass and taking another long draught from it as he did so. Sinking back into the leather chair he turned his attention to the glass, refilling it from the decanter on his side table. When his gaze rose again it locked onto Q, though he still kept silent. 

"James..." he trailed off with a sigh, fingers twitching uselessly at his sides. Q had used up his arsenal at the door. He wasn't lying when he said he was terrible at this. "I only meant... what I said, it wasn't meant to hurt you like this." He hoped James would take pity on him and say something - it was difficult enough to get his thoughts out, let alone having to do it in a one-sided conversation.

James held the silence between them so long Q was probably ready to throw in the towel but then, finally, he spoke. The words were harsh, heavy, and completely devoid of warmth, “Doubting the truth of my feelings for you wasn’t meant to hurt?” He scoffed then, a sour sound that echoed as he drained half of his newly filled glass. James had worked so hard to show Q how much he truly did love him, even if he’d never been the greatest at saying it aloud. To have that questioned in such a crude manner struck deep.

Q could feel himself squirming under James' gaze - not because he was intimidated, though he supposed most people would be. He didn't know what to say, had nothing to occupy his hands, and was horrible at this whole thing anyway. He fidgeted when he was nervous. When James finally spoke, Q's expression changed to one of confusion. "That's not... you think that's what I was doing?" He shook his head. "I don't question that. All I meant... I hoped that my absence would be a punishment of sorts. I was angry - I'm still angry about that, in fact - but I didn't want to actually push you away. I wanted you to think about how careless you were before I saw you. But then I realized just because I wasn't around didn't mean you'd be alone. You're good at distracting yourself. And it isn't as though we were apart long enough for you to be... I don't know, bereft of my presence." Q realized he was rambling and held his breath, already picking apart his sentences to make sure he didn't say something else careless that would drive the wedge in further between them.

His voice was still cold, but at the very least James’s responses were coming quicker, “If you have to wonder whether or not I’d rather be with you why in hell are we together?” His gaze stayed sharp but if Q paid attention he would be able to see the lines of tension in James’s face, the harsh set of his shoulders, the way he wasn’t able to stop rolling his glass between his palms. James felt itchy, the entire situation setting up pins and needles under his skin.

"That isn't what I said at all. If I thought that, then avoiding you wouldn't have been much of a punishment, would it?" Q asked. Taking a chance, he moved to the front of the chair, standing in front of James. He plucked the glass from his hands and set it down. "I'm sorry, James," he said again, words more firm this time. "It was careless of me to say what I did, but I don't question how you feel about me. Not after what we've already been through."

When James let the glass slip from his hands without any real protest or resistance, he realized that the anger was slipping away from him too. The hurt could be felt afresh, but Q’s words and presence served as a soothing balm. It almost surprised him, how badly he had need to hear that Q did have true faith in him, in them. He cast about for words but couldn’t find them, so after a moment James just settled on a slightly curt nod. He was still upset, still drunk, but the constant clenching in his chest over the last three days had finally let up. 

When James didn't make a grab for the glass or push him away, Q took it as a sign that he could continue. Though he felt somewhat awkward about it, he lowered himself until he was sitting in James' lap. Before he could lose his nerve and hoping it was the right choice, Q rested both hands on James' face, leaning in and kissing him tentatively. He'd already made enough mistakes with words, Q could only hope that this was the right move.

The touch of Q’s lips was like someone had cut his strings – all the tension that had been limning James’s features fled in an instant, his body going almost boneless for a moment before his arms surged up and wrapped tight around Q, pulling the younger man in close. Drunk or not he still kissed masterfully and allowed his full skill to come to play here, hungry and wanting as he teased Q’s mouth open and bit at his lower lip, hands claiming ownership in the tight way they held Q’s hips at the same time.

Q realized that they couldn't solve all their problems with sex. Even if they were both terrible at communicating verbally, it was still a necessary component of a relationship. But right now, he didn't really care. They were still learning to navigate everything that was between them. He returned the eagerness, arms moving to loop over James' shoulders, holding the other man close to him. Q gave up control easily, parting his lips and giving himself over.


	37. If I Can't Drink The Water

The rest of the night passed – if not in silence, strictly speaking, at least without speaking. For the first night in three James left the glass of whiskey in the living room when headed for the bedroom, his hands quite full with Q at the moment. The intimacy managed to set to rights most of the pain James had been feeling gnaw at his chest and when he woke the next morning with Q still in his arms it was with a killer hangov er but something akin to a clear head. 

Though Q wasn't sporting a hangover of his own, he had been thoroughly fucked, which meant he was much slower to wake than James. When he finally did blink his eyes open and saw that the other man was awake, he continued the trend of not speaking. Instead, Q tucked his head against the curve of his neck, stringing lazy kisses across his skin. It was almost enough to forget he was still annoyed over the mission, but Q was fairly certain they'd be able to have a much more rational conversation about it now.

At the soft touch of Q’s lips James tilted his head back, giving him more room to work. He felt better, though he needed about a thousand milligrams of ibuprofen and four cups of coffee to truly enjoy being awake right now. But all he did was tighten his grip on Q’s shoulders momentarily in an affectionate gesture before trailing his fingers up and down the other man’s back. They seemed to do better together when they took words out of it.

After a few minutes, Q pulled back, propping himself up on one arm to look down at James. "As lovely as this has been, you're in serious need of a shower," he said, his expression that not-quite smile he wore whenever he was teasing but couldn't quite keep a straight face. "I'll make coffee and breakfast. You look like you need it. I do hope you managed to eat something in between bottles." It wasn't quite an admonishment, but it served its purpose.

“Liquor tastes better on its own,” James responded, his tone finally turning warm. Admit it or not, Q was right. He stank, needed a shave and a fresh change of clothes, and could probably stand to open a window or two to air the place out. Carefully slinking his way out from under Q, James rose to his feet and headed into his bathroom, downing the aforementioned ibuprofen dry before turning on the shower and beginning to clean himself up. 

After James got up and Q deemed his clothes unwearable, he rummaged around in the drawers until he was able to produce a t-shirt that was only three sizes too big and a pair of pajama pants that he had to tie tightly around his waist for fear of them falling off. At least James wasn't obscenely tall, otherwise he'd look even more like a child. Now that he was clothed, Q made his way to the kitchen to prepare coffee, not surprised when he didn't find any trace of tea in the cupboards. He was also able to scrounge up some bread from the freezer that was still good, as well as some sausages that had only just started to lose their color.

Though it took a bit longer than usual – three days of stubble was a bit more delicate than one when it came to using a straight razor – James cleaned up to his usual standards and eventually reentered the kitchen wearing fresh slacks and a clean button up. He smelled better too, the binge not long enough to permeate his pores this time. Catching a glimpse of Q in his clothing sent a rush of warm contentment through James; he liked what he saw. 

Breakfast came together rather quickly and Q had just set their mugs of coffee on the table when James emerged from the bathroom. He felt himself smile as he took in the image of the other man; it was as though he had literally washed the last three days from his skin. "There's the James Bond I know. Back to his usual vanity." There was such warmth in his tone it was immensely clear he was only teasing. "The coffee won't be as good as you're used to," Q warned as he sat down, curling his fingers around his own severely diluted mug.

James scoffed at Q’s teasing tone but the smile on his face gave lie to any thought he might actually be upset. “You enjoy my vanity,” it felt damn good to say something innocuous again, to not have the burden of Q’s implied distrust on his chest. Sliding gracefully into his seat James looked down at his mug and couldn’t help but laugh, “Q, coffee should be black. This looks like water from the Thames.”

Q just hummed non-committedly, though he was smiling over the edge of his coffee mug. He rolled his eyes at James after his comment about the color of the coffee, taking an experimental sip of his own before replying. "I suppose you'd know all about the water in the Thames, wouldn't you? You don't get into much trouble in London, but judging by your record you've ended up in the river enough times to be an expert.

That got another soft snort from James, who just shook his head and drank the coffee anyway. As they sat there in peace for some time, James couldn’t help but ruminate on the discussion they’d been trying to have a few days ago, before everything turned to shit. It should probably still be address. Though it wasn’t his style – he never did enjoy hashing out his feelings with someone – it was important to ensure that the two of them were going to be on the same page moving into the next mission. 

“I trust your judgement, Q, and your eyes on the field. When I make the decision to move against your orders it’s for a reason. That mission was my responsibility. Especially since it went awry the first time,” he took a breath then, uncomfortable with the sheer amount of talking he was doing, but pressed forward, “I was already shot. I knew there wasn’t going to be an explosion because it would have hurt those inside as well. It meant I could still get to the target and complete my mission. If I can do that, I will.” 

Q did a double take when James began talking about the issue that hadn't been entirely settled. It was sudden, for one thing, but on the other hand it was almost hard to believe the other man would volunteer to talk about it at all without a fuss. It was just another reminder of how strongly James felt about him. Swallowing around his surprise, Q nodded slowly. "I understand that. And you should know, given how infrequently I actually give orders like that, that I trust your instincts in the field. But I don't think you wholly understand that these missions are as much my responsibility as yours. This is a new way of doing things. Sometimes, you're going to need to trust my judgement in moments like those."

The touch of a rueful smile graced James’s lips, “New world order, Q? Be careful, you’re starting to sound like C.” But there was no heat to the words and James was certain Q would understand them for the teasing jab they were. He took a moment to actually think about Q’s words, turning them over in his mind to try and understand the different angles Q might be viewing things from before he responded. It was with a deep sigh and an abiding sense of nagging doubt that he did so, “… I trust you. I will… try, Q. That’s all I can promise. I’ve operated without someone in your position for a very long time. There are times your words don’t register, they’re just a drone in my ear, a distraction. That’s not purposeful.”

Q scoffed and leveled him with a playful glare. "My ambition far outweighs that amateur," he replied, changing his accent to sound more like C. It made him smile for a moment until James started talking again, and he considered his words. He knew James' work was delicate, that his focus needed to be on the task at hand. "...what can I do that will help in situations like that, James? I fully understand that you can't focus on your work and listen to me at the same time, which is why I rarely speak other than to guide you. But there must be something that can make this easier."

Another sigh escaped James then as he shook his head, about to admit that there was nothing, that James was just going to have to fight against his own instincts to always keep moving forward. But it was then that an idea so simple struck him it might actually have merit, “… watch old mission footage with me. You can tell me what you would have directed me to do, I can explain why I did as I did. Maybe we’ll understand each other better that way.” There were days, it was true, that he felt Q was too cautious, too careful in the approach he took. It was one of the reasons James ignored him from time to time. Maybe having a more complete understanding of how his mind works would be better. And working from older missions, not the current ones that may still have them a bit hot under the collar should help keep the discussions level. 

Q blinked, the offer catching him off guard. They didn't have a lot of footage from before he was Q, but he was certain he could access old CCTV and Satellite footage and put his own together where it was lacking. "That's a wonderful idea, actually. I'll have to get what footage we already have compiled, probably go through old security and satellite footage where I can. It shouldn't be too difficult." Q was already working through what he knew of James' work before he took over, which missions were in populated areas where he could find more footage if needed.

James nodded, the hint of a smile gracing his lips, “I have no doubt you’ll find what we need, Q.” In his mind the fight they’d been having was settled now, a plan in place to allow them to move forward. With that settled he took another drink of his admittedly terrible coffee and couldn’t help but pull a face, “Why don’t we go down to the café on the corner, buy the paper, get you some tea.” The last offer was partially to allow Q to salvage his pride while still providing James the chance to get a good cup of coffee.


	38. What Else Can I Do?

Q scoffed, though the sound was partially amused. "No need to try and spare my pride, James. I warned you the coffee would be horrible. Some tea would be welcome, though," he conceded. Looking down at himself, he hesitated. "You wouldn't happen to have some proper clothes, would you?" Q didn't fancy the idea of going out in public in what amounted to pajamas, especially one's that so clearly didn't fit him. Though he doubted James would have much in the way of clothing in his size.

That brought a smile to James’s face, laughter in his eyes, “You look fine. I’ll call for laundry while we’re out, to dry clean your things.” Truth of the matter was, he didn’t want Q to change yet. He liked looking at him and seeing so clearly a mark of their connection and he was a bit loathe to give it up. It was then that another idea stuck him as well and his smile widened, “I’ll treat you while we’re out, a surprise.” 

"I look like a vagrant," Q replied, plucking at the loose cotton shirt he was drowning in. "I don't make it a habit to go out in pajamas. Surely even James Bond owns a pair of jeans I could borrow...?" He wasn't vain, exactly, but Q still didn't relish the thought of going out in public in pajamas. Especially not when James was certain to look as well put together as always. When the look on James' face changed, Q narrowed his eyes suspiciously. "...what kind of surprise?"

“Those are my clothes,” he said, a hit of playful warning to his voice regarding the veiled insult, “and I don’t wear jeans.” He spoke the last as though the very thought was abhorrent, which in his mind it rather was. He was a gentleman and he would dress like one, thank you very much. James rather liked the idea of taking Q out in his pajamas and rewarding him with what he had in mind, “Trust me or not, Q?”

"I do trust you but I also don't go out in public dressed in pajamas," Q replied, still averse to the idea. "Especially since you'll apparently be wearing another suit while you're out," he added with a little smile. Honestly, who didn't own at least one pair of jeans? Still, it wasn't as if the clothes he was wearing were ratty, and Q was certain he'd seen plenty of people dressed worse out and about. If James could stand to be seen with him like this, he supposed he didn't have many other options.

“I’m not going to force you out of the door,” was the only response he got, though James’s eyes were kind and, honestly, a little hopeful. He liked the idea his surprise had in mind, especially when he thought about what the before and after would look like. It was a reward for him as much as the other man. But he also wouldn’t set foot outside his flat dressed like that, even under pain of death, so he waited to see what Q would decide. 

Q sighed but nodded in agreement. "Yes. All right. Just as long as you promise you'll dress in whatever passes for casual." He was desperate not to look foolish next to James, though he couldn't say why. For the most part, Q wasn't overly concerned by what people thought of his appearance and he certainly didn't have to worry about whether or not his wardrobe impressed the other man or not; clearly James wanted him regardless. Perhaps it was because he didn't want to be underestimated, though why he cared outside of work was beyond him. He stood, then, gesturing toward the bathroom. "Do you at least have a spare toothbrush? "

That made James chuckle – with where he was taking Q for his surprise there was no way he was dressing less than his absolute best. “In the drawer on the right under the sink,” he answered with an enigmatic little smile, refusing to promise that he’d dress casual. He was pretty sure the lure of morning tea would convince Q to go out anyway. “Toothpaste doesn’t ruin the taste of your precious Earl Gray?” he asked, turning that winning smile on Q even as he teased.

"I don't know who taught you to brush your teeth, but you're supposed to spit it out and rinse your mouth then you're done," Q quipped as he disappeared into the bathroom. He found the toothbrush where James said it would be and spent a few minutes once he was finished washing his face and making himself presentable.

By the time Q was finished, James had completed his outfit for the day with his best suit jacket and a pair of shoes so shiny they gave off a glare, matching the pristine leather of his belt as well. Wallet tucked securely in his pocket – he was going to need it – he smiled when Q left the bathroom and ran his thumb along Q’s jaw, “Ready?”

Q gaped momentarily when he saw James. Not only was he not dressed casually, he looked like he was going to an important dinner at the Ritz. "James... You know people are going to just assume you're a sugar daddy when they see us out like this," he teased instead of complaining. Q felt like a child playing dress up next to James, but he didn't want to act more childish by throwing a tantrum.

James laughed again, the sound rich and truly amused, “Not that I would mind, Q.” He tugged slightly on Q’s ear then, tone turning teasing as he continued, “Besides, you think I would let you dress like that if I were?” Before Q could answer he leaned in and silenced him with a kiss, “Tea will make you happier, let’s go.” With that he led them both out of the flat and into the lift, pressing the button for the lobby. They’d walk to the corner deli, then come back for his car. 

"I'm perfectly happy right now, thank you," Q responded, though considering how often he glanced at himself in the reflective surfaces that they passed, it was clear he was a little self-conscious. But in the end he did trust James, so he followed him to the little shop on the corner without much further dissent. It was a quiet, out of the way little place but he could smell pastries and coffee and hoped they made a decent cup of tea

Knowing Q’s persnickety taste for tea, James had made sure to ensure his favorite coffee spot made tea just as exemplary long before he ever really even had cause. It had been a potential option for their first casual outing when James was still working on wooing the prickly young man to his side. When they arrived he smiled as the barista greeted him by name, did so in return and then ordered for both of them – coffee, tea, and something from the bakery. Bidding Q to sit, James waited for their order and brought it back to their table complete, a light in his eyes as he set Q’s morning meal in front of him. 

Q fidgeted as he waited for James, though when he returned he smiled in thanks, pulling his tea closer and sighing in relief. If James' coffee had been bad, his had been abominable. "Was the breakfast I made not enough?" he asked after taking his first sip, eyeing the pastry pointedly. The edges of his lips were curved up in his usual not-quite-smile, teasing. Even though he teased James for being so obviously "high end", Q found himself unsurprised that a small little coffee shop like this was a place he frequented often. The dichotomy of James Bond, he thought to himself with a private smile.

“Consider it dessert,” he proffered with a smile on his lips. It was so easy to be with Q like this, to feel something positive. Though he wasn’t a man known to have a sunny disposition it was almost impossible not to have at least the ghost of a smile touching his lips when he was alone with Q. Pushing Q’s plate closer to him, James looked at him pointedly, “Try it.” He had picked that pastry especially for Q, pretty certain it would appeal to his taste buds and coordinate with his tea. He wanted the younger man to eat it and prove him right.

"Are you sure this isn't an attempt to fatten me up? People seem to think it's necessary," Q commented dryly, though he did pick it up and study it. It was still warm and smelled delicious, and after he took a bite he decided it tasted as good as it looked. He hummed softly in approval, nodding his head as he set it down. "As usual, you have impeccable taste."

The smirk that rose to grace James’s features couldn’t be described as anything other than lascivious, “I’m quite pleased with you as you are, Q.” James enjoyed watching Q as he made the decision he liked the pastry and hearing his second comment made James’s smirk morph into a satisfied grin, “Complimenting yourself, are you?” It was so wonderful to be able to tease again, to have the ease between them back. 

Q licked his lips blatantly, then felt like an idiot for trying to be seductive with a pastry. It seemed to come so easy to James, his obvious charm, his flirting. Q had never been jealous of that particular fact before. "Well, someone has to," he quipped right back with a little grin. Q felt the same, relieved to be back to their usual banter-induced flirtation.

“Is that so?” James’s voice caressed the question, as though shaping the words with his tongue would help him find the answer. His eyes locking onto Q’s he smirked, that small almost vicious one he used when bringing down an unsuspecting target with his wit and charm, “Shall I start with your beauty or your intellect, then?” He licked his own lips then, the smirk widening as he settled on his choice, “Tonight I’m going to take you home, press you face first into the mattress, and take your pert, tight ass until you beg me to finish inside you. I have always enjoyed the way I can feel your hipbones jut through your skin when I wrap my fingers around them. Before that, when we’re still in the living room, I’m going to watch as you sink to your knees and wrap those bright, beautiful lips around me just to show me how badly you want it.” 

Q knew he was in trouble the moment he saw the look in James' eyes change. One minute he was content and happy, and the next he looked like a predator ready to devour Q. Which, given the things he just said, wasn't too off the mark. Q could feel himself blush from his neck all the way up to his ears, and he glanced around to make sure no one else had heard. His words certainly got to him, and he was immediately grateful that the pants he was wearing were so loose. "Th-that's..." he trailed off, swallowing until he could speak without stuttering and willing his face to retain its usual color. "That's you complimenting yourself more than anything, James," Q quipped, taking a long drink of his tea and trying to act like he hadn't just turned the color of a tomato.

Regardless of Q’s quip that eager, predatory smile stayed in place, “It wasn’t about me, Q. It was about all the reasons anyone with eyes would want to fuck you.” He hit the last two words hard, layering them in the voice that always managed to win over even the most recalcitrant of women. That said, he reached out, brushing Q’s hair out of his eyes, “I love the way you turn red when you’re embarrassed by how badly you want me to do the things I tell you I’m going to.” James couldn’t help but look proud of himself – and how not, with the utter, stuttering mess he’d left one of the most brilliant men on the planet. 

Q scoffed, muttering under his breath. 'Anyone with eyes...' He was certain he wasn't that universally attractive but that was the point of a compliment, he supposed. His muttering was distraction enough from James' words to keep his blush from returning in full force, though his ears were still red. Q was almost startled by James' hand as it smoothed back his bangs; they had decided not to tell anyone at MI6 yet, so he assumed they would be discreet in public as well. How wrong he was. Though his words were innocent, Q felt himself blush again and cursed inwardly. It should not be this easy to get such a reaction out of him.

James’s laugh filled the space between them, short but rich and filled with unbridled amusement. “Should I continue with your intellect, or have you been complimented enough?” he asked, though not without kindness in his tone. The easiest way to compliment Q’s intellect was to keep doing what he has been – trusting his very life to it. There was never a doubt in James’s mind that if anyone could keep him alive with tools and eyes in the sky that it was Q. If the day came that he died in the field there was nobody in the world that could have saved him. 

"I think my ego is quite sated when it comes to my intelligence. Besides, who knows what sort of lascivious things you'll say next," Q replied with a small grin of his own. He quelled the remainder of his blush by slowly finishing his tea and the pastry. Once he was satisfied, he turned his gaze to James once more, curiosity in his eyes. "So what is this you have planned for me? Considering our conversation when it came up, I would guess you're about to take me clothes shopping. But who really knows with you."

That gets another soft chuckle out of James, “It’s a surprise, Q. With your superior intellect, I had assumed you knew what that meant.” James had finished his coffee and scone at the same pace as Q and rose then, graciously clearing the trash from the table for both of them. “We need the car,” was his follow up response as he waited for Q to get to his feet and prepare to leave. As a small, excited smile touched his lips James just let it – he was excited to spoil Q and looked forward to seeing the outcome.


	39. Go Out In Style

Q just hummed softly in reply, and then stood once James cleared the table. He was still loathe to go anywhere dressed like this, but he could tell that James was excited. Q only fidgeted for a moment with the loose fabric before he smiled slightly and nodded, gesturing. "Lead the way, then." He had never thought he would be with someone who was so excited to treat him in the way James so clearly was. It was easier to look forward to their outing, to see the happiness on the other man's face.

The journey to the car was uneventful but comfortable, the silence easy between the two men. When they slid into the front seat of his Aston James allowed himself an inward smile at the juxtaposition of ultra-casual Q against his classic sports car. Keeping the sentiment to himself – he didn’t want to embarrass the other man – James headed out into London proper with one hand on the wheel and one on the gearshift. He was at home in his car, comfortable in a way he wasn’t most other places, and that ease suffused itself into his posture. It wasn’t long before they were in the exceedingly expensive part of town, the shopfronts around them making that abundantly clear. 

The further into London they got, the more nervous Q became. He was still trying to talk himself out of being so effected, but here he was in an expensive car next to a criminally handsome man in an expensive suit in the high end shopping district. It was difficult not to be. "You know, James, some stores won't allow you inside if you're not in tails and a waistcoat. You may have to provide a distraction so I can slip inside," Q replied playfully, trying to cover up his discomfort.

That got another laugh from James, the sound rich. He couldn’t remember another time in recent history that laugher had come so naturally and so easy to him. As he eased the car to a stop in front of one particular store, James leaned in and kissed Q thoroughly, leaving him breathless but careful not to get him too worked up. “Where we are going they will do as I ask,” as if by magic, a valet appeared at their side, smiling as he opened the door and greeted James by name. With a polite nod and a smile that said he knew the man well, James deposited his keys with him and offered Q his arm, silently waiting to escort him inside. 

With the things James promised to do to him later, it was difficult for Q not to get worked up even if all they did was kiss. He was a little flushed when James pulled back, and he peered out the window at the storefront to try and get some idea of what was going on. "Don't tell me you own high end clothing stores as a side project. Though it would explain why so many people you spend time with are model-quality," he quipped as he got out of the car. He only hesitated a moment (mostly out of habit since they were trying to keep things quiet as far as he knew) before he looped his arm through James' and let himself be led.

While he knew he was being a bit flip as far as caution went, James found he didn’t really care at the moment. He wasn’t going to leave Q so eventually MI6 was going to have to find out anyway – maybe it would be easier to be confronted about it as opposed to actually having to tell them. With a warm smile in Q’s direction, James let them both into the store, finally giving away his surprise. The most bespoke menswear store in the entire city, the storefront only big enough to hold samples, fittings, and a few dressing rooms. The décor screamed money in that cultured casual way of the ultra-expensive, all open empty space with granite and marble on almost every surface. 

James nodded in greeting as he was welcomed in by name again, a small smile touching his lips as he responded to the inquiry about Q, “Yes, Wallace, this would be the ‘one’ as you so affectionately call him.” James gently deposited Q in front of the gentleman and watched with amusement as the man in question quickly began sizing him up, muttering softly as he did so about fabric types and the proper cut of a lapel. “Something coordinating, but not too similar, yes?” he inquired then, the huff of a laugh coming out through his nose when Wallace only nodded and pulled the tape measure from around his neck, wrapping it around Q’s own to begin sizing him up.

Q had been expecting something like this, judging by the conversation that led to their arrival. It didn't stop him from feeling entirely out of his element, though. While he liked to remind anyone who commented on his clothing choices that he didn't shop at secondhand stores, Q certainly didn't feel the need to own anything as expensive as the pocket square on the mannequin to his right let alone a full suit from this place. Distracted as he was, Q didn't realize James had referred to him as 'the one' until there was a tape measure around his neck and a stranger standing far closer to him than he usually preferred. "What... you talk about me to your tailor?" he asked, eyes flicking over to James. He was uncertain as to what he was supposed to be doing so he opted to stay still until he was told otherwise.

The look on James’s face – half smile, half smirk – was all amusement. “You’re impossible to set an appointment for,” was the only response he felt the need to give, knowing it left Q with roughly about as much information as he had before. James rather enjoyed the way Q looked like a startled deer – it was easy to see the youth in his face when it wore that expression. His enjoyment was only spurred on further when Wallace gently smacked Q on the shoulder and proceeded to lecture him about moving; and yes, his eyes counted as well, thank you very much.

Q shut his mouth and kept still, though he narrowed his eyes at James when the other man shifted and he was able to meet his gaze without moving. A smug look crossed his features as Wallace complained about all the fabric getting in the way, didn't he have any better fitting clothes? Q figured he could let James answer that, seeing as how he wasn't allowed to move anything but what Wallace told him to. Once all his measurements were taken he looked between the two men, expression going from smug to uncertain. "Is that everything?" he asked, staying still just in case it wasn't.

The look of affront that crossed Wallace’s face would have suggested that Q just proposed laying down in the sewer and rolling around in one of his new suits. “Of course not,” he snapped, pointing to a large desk in the corner, “sit, there is much more work to be done.” As Wallace rewound his tape measure around his neck his look shifted to James, gaze cutting, “What brand of heathen have you brought me, James?”

The smile on James’s face was warm, as was his quiet laugh – he was clearly fond of the old tailor, “He has a brilliant mind, you have to excuse the pedestrian sense of fashion.” The words were light, teasing, and even still James managed to fit in another compliment in, as Q had requested earlier in their day. He turned that warm smile onto the younger man then, genuine joy showing through in the moment. 

"You could at least tell the man you're the reason I'm dressed like this. I don't make it a habit of going out in public in pajamas," Q groused as he sat obediently, though it was clear he wasn't truly upset. How could he be with James smiling at him like that? He so rarely saw him this at ease and the fact that it was being out with Q that made him so happy just made the younger man's chest expand. He hoped James knew that he felt the same, that being around the agent brought him such a sense of fulfillment he could never properly put it into words.

That got James another withering glance from Wallace, “You dressed him like this?” All the agent could do was laugh again and raise his hands in mock surrender, explaining that though they were his clothes he certainly didn’t pick them out for Q to wear. When Wallace responded with a resounding harrumph and the loudest click of his tongue James had ever heard he could only smile somewhat apologetically. That done, Wallace turned his focus back to Q and pulled out a massive collection of fabric swatches, setting them in front of him, “Fabric choices. You should wear cool tones, not neutrals. But, of course, the final decision is yours to make.” It was quite clear from his tone of voice that Wallace felt Q choosing to wear neutrals anyway would have been a mark against his character. 

Q wasn't entirely sure what else they'd have to do after his measurements were taken, but once he saw the massive book of swatches his eyes grew wide. He glanced from it then over to James feeling distinctly like he was drowning. "What... do you suggest?" he asked, doing his best to keep his tone neutral. Q liked to give the appearance that he was always in charge of a situation and acted like he knew more than he did when certain topics came up. In this, he was completely clueless.

Though James took the seat next to Q, the fabric swatch for his own suit currently tucked somewhere within the massive book in front of the younger man, he shook his head as he spoke, “This will be yours, Q. It’s up to you.” Nodding his head toward Wallace once, he kept that warm, comforting smile on his face, “He’s the expert. Work with him.” That was how James had always put together his suits – he and Wallace had once spent over an hour deciding on the fabric for one suit in particular, though the memories attached to that specific piece of clothing made it something James had no real interest in wearing again. But Wallace was the expert and he knew how to dress a man and make him more than he was before. 

Q's eyes shifted to Wallace, his expression making it clear the question still stood. The older man just gave him a long-suffering sigh and walked through the options. At first, once Q had come to a decision, he would look to James to see what he thought of it. It had nothing to do with seeking the other man's permission or his approval, but because he valued his opinion. However, as they went on and Q got more comfortable with the task, his eyes only strayed up to Wallace then back down at the options in front of him until they had settled on something he hoped he wouldn't feel ridiculous in.

James watched, fascinated by the process from an outside perspective. When Q genuinely wanted his input James provided it, though he kept himself mostly removed and took the time to enjoy seeing Q grow more confident in his choices. Wallace seemed to warm to the young man as well, seeming satisfied by the time they were finished. “It will coordinate well with my slate grey suit with peak lapels,” James looked at the tailor then, clearly valuing his opinion, “Wallace?” When the other man nodded in assent, obviously pleased with James’s choice, the agent’s smile widened, “Perfect. You’ll have it ready by September?” 

It took Q a moment to understand what James had said - he'd learned so many new phrases that he was still in the process of mentally cataloging them all. Once he caught up with the conversation again, he looked between the two men, a somewhat suspicious look crossing his features. "Why September? What's in September?" he asked, then looked over to Wallace again. "How long do these usually take?" Q's tone was dubious when his words were directed at James, but immediately switched to something akin to wonder when he spoke to Wallace.

Wallace chose to ignore the pert little genius in his midst to focus on his actual customer, “Have I ever let you down, James?” The rueful smile and short shake of James’s head gave credence to Wallace’s words. “Good,” with that settled, the tailor studied his notes briefly, sizing up the work to be done before finally responding to Q, “Your suit will be done by September, young man, I promise that.” Finished with the process, Wallace stood up and offered James his hand, which the other man rose to take gracefully, “You’re due for something new soon, Mr. Bond. Do not neglect to come see me when the season changes.” 

Q felt the urge to tease James about his already vast collection, but chose not to as he didn't want to offend the tailor of said suits. At the end of their interaction, Q decided he liked the other man and he didn't want to leave with a bad impression. He stood as well, shaking Wallace's hand and exchanging goodbyes until he found himself in the passenger's seat of the Aston Martin. "I told you the pajamas weren't a good idea," he finally quipped, referencing Wallace's complaints about all the loose fabric getting in his way.

That brought another laugh from James’s throat, the sound filling the air around them, “He always finds something to grouse about. I gave him an easy target.” Putting the car in drive, James eased out into traffic and set out away from his apartment, deciding on something of a whim it was time to take a leisurely drive through London. He knew that Wallace would be billing him for the suit, discretely as always, and he was pleased to keep the cost of it quiet. He wanted to gift Q without the younger man being concerned with the expense. 

"So that was your plan all along? Make me the easy target?" Q asked with mock offense. It was amazing, he thought, what 12 hours could do for them. This time yesterday James still wasn't speaking to him and now he'd just bought him a suit that cost who knew how much. Not that Q was the kind of high maintenance person who needed expensive gifts to be won over; it was the thought behind it that mattered, the obvious excitement James had for treating him the way he had. He eased back in the seat and looked out the window, enjoying their leisurely drive through the city. "You know, I think this is the first time I've driven with you other than to and from work. In person, anyway. It's much more pleasant without the high speed chases. I always imagined I'd get car sick if I was to accompany you."

“He would have done the same with your usual outfits,” James commented, his smile highlighting his profile, “and you would have been even more offended.” Allowing the conversation to come to a natural lull, James took in the scenery as he drove – he was in London so infrequently, never really long enough to truly enjoy it, that moments like these reminded him of how deeply fond of the city he was. When Q spoke again James cast him a playful side eye from the driver’s seat, revving the engine as they sat at a stoplight, “Are you trying to push my buttons?”

Q felt himself smirk as he shook his head slowly, glancing at James out of the corner of his eye. "If I was trying to push your buttons, you'd know." His tone held an unmistakable innuendo, but to actually prove his point he reached out and rested a hand on James' leg just above his knee. His fingers teased in slow, firm circles, though Q's gaze was now focused straight ahead rather than on James. He didn't often initiate such things but Q was by no means passive and had a devious streak in him when he felt it was warranted.


	40. How Do You Want It Done

Though it wasn’t what James had been expecting it thrilled him. As a smirk wound its way over his lips the light turned green and he let loose, accelerating faster than was strictly necessary and enjoying, as always, the feeling of his Aston Martin responding under him like they were one and the same. Though he didn’t remark on Q’s hand he was acutely aware of it as he pointed them toward the outskirts of the city – he wanted to get to where he could really let loose, show Q what it felt like to push a true sports car to its limits. 

In response to the sudden acceleration, Q's hand tightened briefly against James' thigh though he relaxed a moment later. The ride was smooth as anything, and Q trusted James completely. He'd seen him driving in a chase and even then, he had remarkable control. Still, he did tend to get a little motion sick. So he focused on the feeling of James beneath his hand, warm and solid. Slowly, his hand moved upward, coming to rest on the middle of his thigh. Q didn't have any plans on where this would go, though he did find himself kind of thrilled at the prospect.

Like this, James was singularly focused and eager. The Aston responded as it always did, beautifully. Q’s palm on his leg only served to heighten it all and as his slim hand slid upward, James flexed his thigh slightly to signify both that he noticed the touch and that he was enjoying it. Q could be a little devil when he wanted to be and relatively few people knew that – it was something James felt privileged to know himself. They made their way out of the city in gentle silence and the very moment the road opened up in front of him James let the car go, the tachometer rapidly climbing as the kilometers fell away behind them. The thrill of the drive was evident on James’s face and though he kept his eyes on the road it was also pretty clear part of that thrill was derived from sharing it with Q. 

He had never experience it until now and would deny it if anyone asked, but Q could see why cruising down the road at high speeds in a luxury sports car was considered so thrilling by so many. He wasn't even driving and yet he felt powerful. Perhaps that was what spurred him on, still playing innocent while looking at the window while his palm came to rest between James' legs. Q just let his hand rest there, not moving or doing anything else but hinting that there might be more. He could play the tease just as well as James could.

If he sunk down in his seat just a little and allowed his thighs to fall open just a touch well, that was instinct, wasn’t it? The smirk on his features grew as he felt interest flare low in his stomach – fast cars and the accidentally ravishing man sitting beside him pretending to be innocent; damn near the perfect fucking combination in his book. There were numerous ways he could take this new development but he chose patience, curious to see where Q went with it himself. If he pushed the car a little harder, added another ten kilometers to their speed… that was just instinct too. 

Q felt himself smile and he glanced briefly over at James, slowly grinding his palm down against the other man's cock. "Don't get yourself pulled over. That would be a waste, don't you think?" After he finished speaking, he looked out the window again, deft fingers unbuttoning James’s trousers one-handed, teasing as he pulled down the zipper far more slowly than necessary. As thrilling as this was, Q could only imagine the ways in which James would pay him back once they returned to his flat.

The rich tenor of Q’s voice contrasted against the dirty and delicious things he was doing with his hand brought a laugh from James’s throat, “I’d like to see them catch us, Q.” Under normal circumstances, your run of the mill joyride, James had little concern for any cop that might see him flash by as a blur. With Q beside him, teasing like the little devil he could be, James had none at all. A chase might even add a bit of thrill to the whole situation. He looked over to Q only briefly, his teeth flashing white as he smirked, “It looks like you’ll be doing all the pulling soon, anyway.”

Q did turn his head then, eyes flashing only the briefest warning before he brought his hand down sharply between James' legs. It was only meant to be a tease and he applied just enough force for his point to be made without doing any actual harm. "Maybe I just want to see how well you can multitask," he replied haughtily, as though he hadn't planned on stroking his cock but was just preparing James so he could do it himself. His fingers slid inside his open trousers but kept the layer of his boxers between them. The mental image of James stroking himself while he drove was incredibly arousing, but Q did have other plans in mind. He just didn't want James getting too smug about it.

Though it sparked for only a moment, James caught the warning in Q’s eyes and was able to brace himself before Q’s hand made impact. The sharp sensation – partial pain, mostly pleasure – went right to his cock and widened his grin at the same time. “You should already know that, Q,” as he spoke James was practically purring, his voice low, deep with desire, “since playing to all your pleasures comes as naturally as breathing.” The renewed warm pressure of Q’s hand on him, closer to the target this time, brought James’s breath in slightly quicker. If Q was going to keep this up, James was going to have to take him driving more often. 

"Do you do that particular brand of multitasking often?" he asked nonchalantly, eyes back out the window once more in feigned innocence. Q's fingers were tracing the outlines of James' length and he could feel his erection growing against his palm. Q didn't do or say anything else after that, just lazily guided his fingers over his cock, skimming lower to graze against his balls before moving back up while at the same time looking almost bored as he stared out the window.

That got another chuckle from James, one hand falling from the gear shift to brush along the tender, fragile bones of Q’s wrist, “Why would I, when the alternative is coming home to you?” Though he was clearly talking dirty, the undercurrent of true affection in that statement couldn’t be missed. Eyes still locked on the road ahead – one didn’t push 180 KPH and survive it by being stupid enough to lose focus – James nonetheless managed to thoroughly enjoy the attention Q was lavishing on him. 

Though he still wasn't looking at James, Q did smile at the affectionate words. He decided a reward was in order; instead of replying, Q's fingers dipped below the waistband of James' boxers and he trailed the pads of his fingers over the very base of his cock. He was still teasing, but at least now there were no layers between them. Q kept up his ministrations much as before, touches playful and light, outlining the entirety of the other man's erection without giving him any real satisfaction. He was curious, really, wanting to see if James would ask for more.

One short, sharp intake of breath was the only visible response James had to Q’s more intimate touch. The muscles of his thighs tensed at the teasing sensations but James was exemplary at keeping himself under control in all situations. Not that this one called for it, particularly, but nonetheless it was an inborn habit. Besides, James rather enjoyed this wicked little side of Q and was curious to see what else the young man might do with those deft, slender fingers and the warm, soft skin of his palm. 

It wasn't at all a surprise when James didn't utter one word even remotely approaching a plea. Q didn't really think he would, but wondered if his guard was lowered enough to warrant it. He glanced over at the other man again, briefly considering whether or not he could comfortably fit his head in James' lap without disrupting his driving. Considering how fast they were going, Q decided he'd better not, though the unconscious grin on his face gave away his thoughts. Instead he curled his fingers around James' cock, slowly stroking him in earnest. Though Q wasn't looking at him directly, he was watching out of the very corner of his eye to see how James responded to more firm stimulation.

It was a small tell, but a tell nonetheless and it spoke volumes about James’s utter faith and trust in Q that it happened without him quite realizing it. At the increased stimulation he drew half of his bottom lip between his teeth, biting down and running the tip of his tongue over the tender skin. Had they been at home he would have let his eyes drift closed and tilted his head back slightly but this wasn’t the place for such a thing. It was also tempting to wrap his hand around Q’s wrist just to feel the other man but James never was good at anything that may have looked like begging. 

Q decided to take a more direct approach now, rubbing his thumb along the head of his cock for a few moments before stroking the entirety of his length, letting his fingers brush against his balls before starting the process over again. Q knew how long James usually lasted during a hand job, and once enough time had passed where he was fairly certain he should be getting close, Q turned to watch James outright. He liked seeing his expressions of pleasure, liked knowing that he was the one giving it to him. It was more a compliment than most of the things James said aloud.

James had been warring with himself for the last few minutes, trying to decide between two equally wonderful soundings options. The thought of coming like this, Q’s hand on his cock at this speed was thrilling, though the follow up to that – stained clothes and the inability to touch Q in return weren’t as welcome. On the other side of things he could pull over, find them a semi private spot, and pull Q into his lap – it would be a tight fit but he was pretty sure they could manage and just the thought of sliding himself inside Q’s warm, tight hole brought him that much closer to coming. 

It was with a rasp to his voice that he spoke, eyes flicking to Q for just a moment before returning to the road. But it was enough time to see the look of eager hunger on Q’s own face as well, “I don’t make a mess of myself, Q.” Reaching out his free hand, James dragged his thumb over Q’s lips hard before letting it trail down his side to rest obviously at his hip, “so you’ve got two other options. Make the decision quickly.”

Q felt himself laugh, slightly breathless from arousal. "You know, James, you really should have more faith in me." He slid his hand from James' trousers, licking the pre-come from his fingers with a wicked smirk. "I was just about to tell you that you should pull over. As for my decision..." he trailed off, having already made up his mind minutes ago. Q shrugged though, keeping that to himself for now, looking back out the window so he wouldn't give anything away as he waited for James to pull off to the side of the road.

Something about Q’s words sent an even sharper thrill through James than his hand had. He was inexplicably attracted to the young man physically, loved how easy he was to pull and lift and tug into whatever position James had in mind, but something about the sharp, devious way his seemingly innocent mind worked undid James far more than hipbones and slender wrists ever could. It was the juxtaposition, James though, between that analytical genius perpetually clothed in out of date jumpers and the sly, cunning minx that came out when they were alone like this. There may still have been genus in Q’s actions, but it wasn’t the same kind that headed Q-Division. No, it was the one that had learned, had always been learning, how to disassemble James and understand the things that made his blood race, that brought him from his own mind into his body. That was what James found the most thrilling about his young lover. That ever changing, ever brilliant mind. 

He eased the car off the side of the road and to a gentle stop with practiced ease. They were so distant from the city it couldn’t even been seen on the horizon any longer yet even with the speed and the distance there wasn’t a scratch on the vehicle. If there were three things James knew how to handle they were his car, his gun, and his women. He was pleased to realize he was getting a good grip on a fourth – Q. With the car in park, James turned to Q with that same confident smirk on his features and just waited, tracing his fingers along the swoop of his bangs.


	41. Is It Best To Sip It Slowly

Q turned to James with that same smirk in place, and he leaned over to kiss the other man with significantly more force than usual. He was usually passive, letting James take the lead since that seemed to be his preference. Now, however, he was the one in control, his tongue working past James' lips as his hand cupped the back of his neck to pull him in close. The kiss didn’t last long, but it was full of passion and want and it left Q breathless as he pulled away. "Lean back," he ordered, watching as James complied. His eyes raked over the other man's form and Q licked his lips before leaning over, hand disappearing in James' trousers to free his cock. He glanced up at James briefly still wearing that same wicked smirk before he leaned down, lips closing around the head of his cock, tongue swirling against the very tip, tasting James' arousal.

As his eyes drifted closed and he let his head fall back against the seat, James smiled with quiet satisfaction; this was certainly an end he was happy to come to. Getting to watch Q take control was always a treat, something that felt like a reward to James even though he was never sure what he did to deserve it. It was amazing to see how badly the younger man not only wanted to be taken, but how badly he wanted to take James, even if it was in a different way. It made him feel desired in a way he never really had before, not with any of his myriad of women.  
Without much active though, James’s hand wound through Q’s unruly mop of hair, fingers stroking his scalp and letting Q set the pace. He’d done a wonderful job of everything so far and James was uninterested in changing things now. 

Q wasn't exactly able to deep throat James with ease - he doubted anyone was - but it didn't keep him from trying. He lavished attention on the head of his cock while his hand was busy with the rest, but he slowly managed to take him in deeper and deeper. His throat worked around the length, swallowing when he could and gagging when he took too much. Q was nothing if not determined, though, and even when he choked he didn't back off fully. He caught his breath while his tongue worked against the tip, never fully pulling off James' cock. Q kept pushing himself until he could manage not to choke when the other man's cock bumped against the back of his throat.

It didn’t take long before James’s eyes were open and intent, watching as Q put his usual dogged determination to work in a very different capacity. Though he couldn’t see it James needed to have some sense of how far Q was taking him other than just the feeling of his mouth on his cock – he was the kind of man who liked his sex to involve all his senses. Trailing his hand down, James freed it from Q’s locks to wrap around his throat – certainly not hard enough to choke or even begin to hurt him, but tight enough that James could feel every minute motion he made. Being able to watch and feel it, especially when Q was finally able to get him to the back of his throat, drew a low, almost keening sound from James’s throat. “Q,” all he could do was whisper his name, try to tell him how fucking good it was. 

Hearing how hoarse James sounded, knowing it was the closest to wrecked he would get to hear, Q's lips curled into a grin that he knew the other man could feel. Keeping James' cock as deep in his throat as he could, he swallowed around him as much as was possible, doing his best to tighten his throat, milking his cock with as much skill as he had. The feeling of James' hand at his throat sent a thrill through him, and Q knew James was enjoying it too. Really, anything James did that highlighted how much he was enjoying himself was enough to spur Q on. He pulled back again, this time bobbing his head along James' length in earnest, doing what he could to get him off.

When Q set to lavishing his length with gusto, James let go of his throat and put his hand back in Q’s hair, tightening his grip just enough for Q to feel it. His feet were braced against the floorboards, eyes narrowed with arousal. The sense of control he felt like this, even with Q actually calling the shots, was thrilling. Having one of the smartest men in the world like this, willing and eager to milk his cock for all it was worth filled James with so much pleasure – Q could have anyone and he chose James. In short order he submitted to Q’s ministrations, coming hard with a grunt and spilling copiously against the back of Q’s throat. 

Q was as prepared as he could be, moving to suck on the head of his cock when he knew James was close so he wouldn't choke on it. He swallowed as James came, lapping at the tip for a few moments once he'd finished before pulling back and licking his lips. Q's eyes were dark with lust as he looked up at James, lips red and swollen. "I considered doing that before you pulled over, but it seemed a little too much like tempting fate," he said at length, lips curled up in a dazed grin. "Perhaps it will give you something to think about the next time you're on a long drive."

At Q’s wry cheek James’s lips curled into a grin as he reached out, capturing the back of Q’s neck and pulling him in for a kiss. Pressing his tongue past Q’s lips, James hummed in pleasure at the taste of himself on the other man’s mouth. Once he finished ravishing Q as such, James pulled back to lick the last vestiges of his come from Q’s lips and spoke, “It’s my turn.” With just that he slid his hand down, palming the front of Q’s sweatpants and squeezing, enjoying how hard he had grown without being touched at all. 

Q let James take the lead this time, savoring the kiss. His face was flushed when James pulled back and he groaned at the touch, legs spreading wider in invitation. Q had intended on giving James a show but if the other man was so intent on doing this for him he wasn't going to deny him. "I always thought it was too bad we can't do both. It would take a little too long for you to be able to fuck me, wouldn't it?" he asked, the words meant to goad James rather than an actual suggestion. Q was not about to wait for James to get hard before he came, but he thought that the sentiment would at least be appreciated.

The predatory grin that stole across James’s features said it all: I don’t need to be hard to fuck you. With the same voracious look glinting in his eyes, James twisted his fingers into Q’s waistband and pulled down, letting his cock spring free. He took it in, allowing himself a moment to savor just how much precome Q had leaked everywhere before bending over, laving the head of his cock with his tongue as a sort of reward. 

Q groaned softly as his erection was freed, twisting slightly in the seat until he could spread his legs further. A shaky moan left him at the feeling of James' tongue on him, a little embarrassed at just how much he'd leaked without so much as a single touch. He clearly got off on sucking James' cock and that spoke far louder than anything he could ever have said. Now, though, Q was realizing just how much he'd neglected himself in his ministrations with James, his cock aching with need.

So utterly pleased with himself, James couldn’t help but smirk even with his mouth full of Q’s cock. He was somehow graceful about the process, tongue working intricately across Q’s slit as one hand slid up the younger man’s thigh, teasing at the soft skin where it met his body. It was only a minute or two before James pulled back, licked his lips like a cat with crème, and spoke, “Seat back, pants and shoes off, get on your knees.”

By the time James spoke, Q was thoroughly enjoying himself, already lost in the sensation. He was rocking his hips forward and his eyes were squeezed shut, lower lip held between his teeth. He whined when James pulled back, eyes impossibly darker than they had been before. He was clumsy in his actions, but he obeyed, wondering what the other man had in mind. At this point, Q was too caught up in what they were doing to care too much about the possibility of being caught by some passerby.

As Q folded himself into the position James demanded of him, the agent watched with hungry, eager eyes. He loved how obedient the younger man was, the way he almost always did as James asked without putting up a fight. It made the moments he got devious – like just moments before – all the sweeter as well. Once Q was settled James reached out, sliding a hand behind him and between his legs, into the space created by making him kneel. It allowed James to trail the rough pads of his fingertips over Q’s hole even as he tilted his head down again, to lap teasingly at the sides of his shaft.

Q arched his back, a ragged breath leaving him as he tried to determine what the best way to balance himself was. He braced one arm on the door and the other on the console between them, holding himself steady as he carefully pressed back against James' fingers then forward against his tongue. With as much teasing as he'd done, he had a hard time believing James would be merciful and he was not about to beg. Instead, he bit his lip and continued rocking back and forth slowly, trying to get the most out of what James was offering

The warm huff of a chuckle escaped against the side of Q’s shaft, James swapping out his finger for the notably larger pad of his thumb. James, the successful agent he was, was always prepared. There was a small bottle of lube in the glove box, though he didn’t reach for it yet, instead choosing to keep teasing with varying strokes of his tongue and increased pressure against Q’s hole. He could and would take his time, working Q higher and tighter without tipping his over the edge; not yet, anyway. 

Hearing James' amusement, Q's suspicions were confirmed and it was all he could do not to groan aloud. Instead, he sucked in a breath through his teeth and focused on the minutia; the feeling of James' breath against his skin, the little shocks of pleasure he got from his tongue, the difference between the tips of his fingers and his thumb. He wasn't trying to ignore or lessen the pleasure, but rather to slow it down, to relish it rather than to rush through impatiently.

Once he was able to ascertain that Q was going to do as James expected of him – hold still, if not be patient – James smiled and tilted his head, able to capture Q in his mouth again. He worked just the slit, equal parts soft teasing and slow, hard strokes that would definitely catch Q’s attention. His hand stayed busy, pressing just enough to begin to breach the ring of muscle without actually slipping inside, opening Q up almost frustratingly slow. The minutes passed by in a blur, James keeping an ear open for any changes in Q’s breathing or movements that would alert him to an impending orgasm. As punishment, James was going to bring him to the edge twice and abandon him there before allowing him to crash over. He was satisfied he was well on his way to the first time. 

His intense focus made the teasing perhaps even more pleasurable than rushing through to orgasm would have been, and the slow build he felt in his gut sent tiny shivers through him until his hands and thighs were trembling. Q gasped the first time James pulled away, eyes opening in surprise as he looked over, a little dizzy from the sensations. He could tell by the devious look in James' eyes that it was intentional and Q simply swallowed heavily and took a few deep breaths before he nodded slightly to indicate that he'd come down from the edge before James started again. It was the sweetest kind of torture, the slow build and the second time James pulled back right before he came Q actually whimpered, his skin flushed, sweat beading on his forehead as he struggled to stay still for so long. After he came down the second time, Q's gaze met James' again and there was an unspoken plea in his expression he hoped the other man would acknowledge.

Q took everything James gave him and responded with such beautiful obedience that even if he had planned on taking things further he would have changed his mind just to reward Q for his unshakable trust in the double oh. Once he was sure Q had come down enough that he could draw the third and final time out a little longer, James gave his last verbal order, “Glove box.” Waiting for the lube to be delivered to him was torture of his own – he had just come, but this had taken enough time that his cock was starting to grow interested again. 

Q leaned forward and fumbled with it for a moment, his left hand somewhat numb from holding onto the door so tightly. Once he finally found the lube, he laughed softly. "Of course you are always prepared," he rasped, handing over the bottle before moving back into the same position he had been in. His eyes were still locked on James, and he licked his lips expectantly, waiting to take whatever he was to be given.

James only smirked softly in response, the pop of the cap audible in the otherwise still air of the car punctuated only by Q’s heavy breathing. He slicked his fingers then, two of them and his thumb in quick order, before sliding his hand back into the space between Q’s thighs and pressing his thumb in deep without any further warning. His eyes were still locked on Q’s face as he sunk in to the knuckle, then pulled back only enough to immediately add his second finger. One of James’s favorite things was the look on Q’s face as he was split open. 

Q's eyes slid shut and he pressed back against James' fingers, his breath catching in his throat as his face twisted in pleasure. He could feel his cock twitch in interest, more precome sliding down the length of his shaft. He shifted then, moving both hands to the glove compartment so he could push back against James' fingers with more force, his back bowed as Q leaned forward, using his knees to move himself on and off James' fingers.

The low hum of appreciation that filled the car was evidence enough of James’s pleasure with the whole situation. He watched for a minute as Q took his pleasure off James’s hand, enjoyed the visceral sensations the scene brought forth in his gut. It was brilliant and all his, his alone to see. Only once he’d seared the image into his brain – his Q, his car, his hand – did he lean down again. This time, the blowjob didn’t start slow or focus only on the head of Q’s cock. This time, James used his mouth like he used his hand, taking Q from tip to root without stopping anywhere along the way and letting the younger man fill his throat with barely any resistance at all. 

Q kept his hands braced against the glove box, but when James took his cock down his throat he threw his head back, moaning in pleasure. His hips stuttered to a stop until he was able to catch his breath, then he moved again, sliding himself down James' throat before pushing back to take his fingers in deeper. He didn't mind doing the work when it felt this good, and Q continued fucking himself off James' hand and his mouth until he was close again, breathless and panting, legs shaking from the effort.

They’d been together long enough that James could tell, James could always tell when Q was reaching the edge. Now, as always, he was aware and chose just the right time to take advantage of it. Pulling back both his hand and his mouth, James paused for a fraction of a second before pressing in, sliding his fingers deep in Q and his mouth down his shaft at the same time, trapping the younger man between his ministrations. Like this, James had Q unable to move and he took full advantage, beginning to swallow hard around Q’s cock as his fingers found and milked his prostate mercilessly. 

Q's body shook with the force of his orgasm, and he yelled James' name at the suddenness of it, his hips jerking forward. It was a struggle to keep himself upright, his hands slipping on the glove box. He wasn't quite sure how he managed to keep from toppling over, and it felt like minutes later after he'd finally come down enough to feel something other than the blinding pleasure of his orgasm. He didn't care that his palms and knees were sore, though Q was silently contemplating how he was going to get himself back in the seat while he was feeling so boneless.

It wasn’t until he was completely sure he’d managed to wring every last drop from Q that James pulled back, and even then he took his time, hoping to tease out another moan with his tongue on too-sensitive skin. Even in the midst of their shared pleasure, James was well aware of where they were and took pains not to get anything on the leather of his seats, cleaning Q with his tongue as he fetched a handkerchief from his breast pocket, using the fine silk to wipe the lube from his fingers and Q’s hole. Car sufficiently protected, James rolled his window down just enough to throw the stained cloth out of it before he leaned in for one last thing – a soft kiss, pressed to the side of Q’s mouth, gentle and affectionate more than anything else. 

Q hummed in response to James' ministrations, only able to manage a half-whimper at the feeling of his tongue on over-sensitive skin. After James cleaned him up and leaned in for a kiss, Q turned his head as much as he could at the last second to return it before beginning the process of pulling his legs out from under him so he could sit properly. James was a gentleman as always, helping where he could, and it only took about a minute before he was sitting again, the back of his seat in the proper position.

Once Q was settled, James huffed out an almost silent laugh and started his car, enjoying the rumble of his engine coming to life. His Aston, his Q, their privacy. A fantastic fucking day. As he eased the car around and pointed it in the direction of the city James shot another look over to the man at his left. Just seeing him there brought a genuine smile to his face and a thrill to his chest. Q was his and they had finally figured everything out, at least for now. James did his best to just allow himself to enjoy it.


	42. Or Drink It Down In One

Once they were moving and Q was able to control his limbs once more, he reached out and rested his hand on James' knee. There was no tease or anything else behind it, he simply liked being connected to the other man when he could be. "I love you," Q said softly a few minutes later as he looked over at James, a soft, content smile on his lips.

That brought another huff from James but he’d gotten better at realizing that in the privacy of their own spaces, with nothing between them but a tentative future, saying the things he felt was sometimes okay. “I love you too,” he murmured, hand briefly leaving the gearshift to drop over Q’s affectionately. 

James and Q settled into a pleasant rhythm over the next few months. Q was as professional as always when it came to work, scolding him for mishandling or flat out destroying his tech and leading him through his missions with the same calm poise he used with everyone else. They spent their time together enjoying what little peace they had, each of them knowing it could all come crashing down in an instant. 

Eventually, both James and Q found themselves in M's office. The older man looked grim, his lips pressed in a tight line as he scanned the documents on his desk several times while the other two waited to hear what they'd been called for. Finally, M sighed and sat back in his chair, his gaze locking on James and Q sitting across from his desk. "...I have a field operation for you. It's incredibly delicate." 

He paused, eyes glancing down at the paperwork once more before he began again. "I don't like taking risks like this. Q, your presence here is absolutely vital and I want you to know that this is not being done lightly. However, considering you are the only person in our employ we can guarantee will be successful, we have little choice. You are needed in the field. You'll be accompanied by 007 to ensure your safety, and R will be monitoring everything to make sure this operation runs as smoothly as possible. 

Spectre has gathered a rather impressive amount of data they keep on a central computer that is completely isolated from remote access. In addition to that, the security features they employ include the system you created, and even R herself has admitted she's been unable to override it. You'll need to access that computer and destroy the files. Silva's list of NATO agents is part of that information, but after he hacked us, and with C's involvement with Spectre, there's a very good possibility they have information on our own agents as well."

As M delivered this new mission James went very still, eyes hard as the details unfolded. Computer tech and security systems may not have been his forte, but destroying things certainly was. Taking Q on a mission, any mission, was a nonstarter for him and as soon as M finished talking he made that clear, “Taking the quartermaster on a field mission is a death wish, M. He has none of the appropriate training. He belongs here.”

Q shot James a look, a reminder to keep their private life together private. M shook his head and leaned back in his chair with a heavy sigh. "004 and 009 have been clearing a path to where the computer is, and 002 and 006 are providing distractions. We have a window where the building will be relatively empty. We will be able to disable the security cameras on the outside, with additional agents providing support inside. This is necessary. If we had anyone else who was qualified, we wouldn't risk our Quartermaster. But we are as prepared as we can be. You two seem to work the best together, which is why we chose you to accompany him, 007. You'll leave in three days' time." 

Before James could let his personal feelings interrupt, Q stood and nodded, accepting the mission. "Of course, sir. I'll make sure we're both properly outfitted."

James’s scowl only deepened at Q’s easy acceptance of the mission; though he kept his mouth shut for the time being it was clear he was exceedingly displeased with the entire plan. As soon as M dismissed them James was on his feet, stalking out of the office as politely as he could manage. His glare caught Moneypenny on the way out and he almost growled at her, “Did you know about this?”

Moneypenney looked back at James with a cool expression, clearly not appreciating being the target of James' ire. "I'm only a secretary," she replied, though there was concern in her gaze when she glanced over to Q. Q shot a warning look over at James before pausing to glance apologetically at Eve. "I'll call you later," he promised before leaving the office altogether. "I have been working on a few things I think will be useful, I'll see if they've been finished." He said to James matter-of-factly, doing what he could to remain professional

“You’re not going,” was the only response Q got, James’s voice terse and coarse as he broke off to head elsewhere in the building. Whatever he needed to do to find a replacement for Q, he would figure it out. With that he vanished into a stairwell, going through his contacts in his mind, wondering who he could trust with such a difficult, sensitive mission. 

Q sighed but let James go. He know that M wouldn't risk him if they hadn't already ruled out every other possibility. If James needed to see that for himself then so be it. He checked in with his minions and headed to the range, testing himself as he hadn't had the chance to practice in quite some time. Q went about his day as though nothing was different, though he didn't miss the furtive glances some of his minions kept giving him. He checked in with 004 and 009 concerning their progress while R told him how 002 and 006 were faring. All in all, in was a solid mission. He just wasn't sure he was fully prepared to be part of it.

Though it took almost 6 hours, James finally had to admit when enough was enough and throw in the towel. He had gone over everything – the people he knew, the people they knew, the potential to pull in someone from the outside, but knowing what was on that computer ruled anyone but a high level MI6 asset out. Enraged wasn’t enough to explain his anger with the mission handling, dread wasn’t succinct enough to explain the roil of worry and fear brewing in his stomach. Q wasn’t meant for the field. A strong wind would blow him away for Christsakes. But in the end, as much as he hated it, he had to admit defeat. 

Making his way down to Q Division, his mood surely enough to scare off anyone who might try to make contact, James focused on what he knew and what he needed to do – ensure he was more prepared to defend Q than he’d ever been before, ensure that no matter what happened, what the cost, that Q would be making it back to London alive. That meant he needed to know what new tech he had available to him and that meant finding Q. 

Q was in his office when James found him, working with the wiring on a small, round disk. He looked up when James entered and his eyes softened for a moment before he looked down. "It's a motion-activated hologram. I'm not sure how much good it will do on this particular mission, but if anyone gets too close it will at least provide a distraction and warn us." There was other tech - a small, bulletproof shell they could erect around the workstation, but it was bulky and would slow them down when they needed to retreat. Q had tinkered with that for a time, trying to find a way to make it more user friendly in tight spaces before he decided there wasn't enough time and moved on to the next thing. R was putting the final touches on their modified body armor as they spoke.

When he spoke James was all 007, a tone Q hadn’t heard in months except over the comms during a mission. It made it clear just how deadly serious James was about this. “You will follow my every order without a second of hesitation. I say run, shoot, hide, give up, or leave me,” his voice turned even colder on the last two words, “you do it, without question and without a counter argument. Do you understand me?”

Q swallowed, finding it somewhat difficult to remain professional in this moment when it was just the two of them. "...of course. You're taking point, I'm just the asset." He had guided James through missions like this countless times and it felt incredibly strange to refer to himself as an asset. But he knew the drill, knew that the assets who lived were the ones who listened to their agents. Regardless of how badly he wanted to insist that he would never leave James, Q knew that following orders was the best chance for them both to make it back alive

A muscle twitched in James’s jaw but otherwise he made no additional comment to that piece of things, instead choosing to look over Q’s work. “I want a list of every piece in R&D, in progress and discarded, right now.” He was going to pour through it, see if there was anything that might be remotely useful and able to be finished in two days. He would push Q-Division past vision-edged-black exhaustion if he had to, all to ensure Q’s safety, “And if I want something finished before this mission, it gets finished.” He left no room for argument. 

Q nodded, pulling a folder from his desk and handing it over. "I've already been looking through it. R and another group are working on a few pieces I've already identified, but they're prepared for more. Just let me know what would be of most use." Though he was acting like this was any other mission, Q was afraid. His life had been threatened before, and he'd been shot at while they were trying to escape from Blofeld's thugs, but this would be different. He would be the target this time, not M or James. That and he knew James would do whatever it took to protect him, up to and including sacrificing himself. Q did not relish that idea.

Taking the folder, James threw himself down with more force than necessary onto the couch that took up part of Q’s office, opening the file and beginning to read through it with focused determination. He would leave no stone unturned in his quest to protect Q. Occasionally he would have a question about one of the pieces or another, wait for Q’s response, then grunt and cross it off his mental list or make a mark next to it with the pen in his right hand. Once finished he stood and thrust the folder back at Q, still all 007, “I expect working models of everything marked by the morning.” 

Q nodded as he took the folder, intent on pulling an all nighter so that everything would be ready by the time he and James were set to leave. He was the type of person who led by example and wouldn't ask his people to do things he wasn't willing to do. He flipped through the folder, beginning to take down notes, though he was distracted with James in the room. "You should go home and get some rest. Or if you intend to stay, you should head to the range or something to keep yourself busy. It's going to be a long night."

James’s voice was cutting when he responded, “No. You’re leaving as soon as you give that list to R.” The one thing that almost always turned fatal when it came to assets was exhaustion. He was not going to allow Q two sleepless nights before they entered Spectre held territory; that was asking for trouble. James crossed his arms over his chest, imposing and solid, as he prepared for some kind of argument. 

"James, if there is work that needs to be done, I need to be here. I'll come home tomorrow. I know your concerns, but we're not leaving for another two days. That will be plenty of time for me to catch up on my sleep. I need to at least put these in some sort of priority order before R begins working on them, and I want to finish this before I leave as well. Trust me that I know my own limits." Q did not want to argue, not now, not when they were both going into a dangerous mission and may not both come back.

“You’ve never faced what you will in the field,” the blue of James’s eyes had almost turned matte, steel reflected in his gaze, “so you have no idea what your limits are.” As stubborn as James was, he knew Q had his own pervasive streak of the same and managed to force himself to come to a compromise, “You have two hours with R and I will be back. You’re spending the rest of the day and tomorrow with me, doing as you’re told and honing what skills I require.”

"And I have time tonight to prepare. If you're going to take up my time tomorrow, I need what time I can get tonight." Q could be just as stubborn as James and he did not want to leave Q Division until he was certain he had done all that he could for one night. "As it stands, this conversation is taking up what time I do have. Go make yourself useful, I will find you when I'm finished." At that, Q went back to working on the hologram device, trying not to give off any hint as to his own fears

“You’re not staying here past ten,” were James’s final words, clear as day. But with that he did take his leave, heading toward the parts of MI6 that would better allow him to test his aim and take out his frustrations all at once. The good thing was that the agents currently in the field had managed to send back information on the layout of the building – he could begin the process of memorizing that as he worked. A mission with Q at his side instead of in his ear… it was more dangerous for both of them and James hated it. 

Q made good use of his time, finalizing the hologram before he put the list of tech in priority order and began going over specs with R and the team she'd put together specifically to work on this project. He felt in control like this, coding and putting things together, far moreso than he had that morning when M had initially delivered the news of what his mission would be. The time went by so fast that he was exasperated when James returned.

Standing in the doorway James uttered only one word, “Now.” His body was coiled, muscles tense – it was clear he was planning on bodily removing Q if the need arose. He expected to be obeyed – from the moment M had handed down the mission until the moment they were safely ensconced in the halls of MI6 afterwards Q was his asset and his responsibility. 

Q sighed. "I will be finished in a moment. You're welcome to wait." They were at work, in Q Division of all places. Q expected that James would keep things professional regardless of his personal feelings. He and R were still trying to work out a particular issue with one of the prototypes and he was unwilling to leave until it had been resolved.

“You’re my asset now, not just a day from now. You want to survive, you do as you’re told starting now.” Turning, James’s cold gaze fell on R, the intensity in his words carrying over as he addressed her, “You can handle this on your own.” Though it was phrased as a question it wasn’t one in actuality – James wasn’t just being a dick, he knew she was skilled and capable all on her own. As he waited for a response from them both, James stalked further into the room, using his bulk to full effect in order to gain obedience from them both.

Q was not intimidated by James, even though he knew his intentions. "007, your intimidation doesn't work here. I will be finished momentarily, and this will go faster if you refrain from distracting me. A few minutes here will not affect anything in the field." With that, he turned back to R and finished what they had been discussing. He didn't want to argue with James, but his work was just as important as whatever the other man required from him, and he wasn't about to abandon it. He was careful not to push James too much, though, knowing how much stress he must be carrying around with the mission hanging over his head, so it was only 15 minutes later that he took his leave from Q Division and let James escort him out.

James was practically thrumming with tension, the emotion radiating off him in waves as he silently followed Q out. The vein in his throat was throbbing and it had taken all he had not to physically put his hands on Q and drag him out of that office. James was doing his damn best to remain professional at work but Q being so obstinate was making that harder than it should have been. He kept his mouth shut as they reached the garage, gesturing for Q to get into his car instead of take the Tube home as he normally did. Their relationship was still, somehow, a secret to MI6 and so they took steps to keep it that way. But tonight he was certain that driving off with Q would simply be seen as the agent making sure his asset went home and got rest.


	43. So Much To Lose

Once they were in James' car, Q relaxed slightly, relieved that he could be open once more. "I'm sorry, James. I need to make sure everything is ready." He reached out and rested his hand on the other man's knee the same way he usually did when they were driving. Q was nervous too, but he had faith in James and the rest of their team and knew that M wouldn't send them out on a hopeless mission. This had been carefully planned and he had every belief that they would succeed.

“You need to worry less about that and more about yourself,” James responded, terse and on edge. He had spent all his day trying to rescue Q from even having to go and then pushing himself brutally in the practice arenas once he realized that wasn’t going to be possible. This “asset” was one of the few people in the world who mattered to him, the one who mattered most, and now MI6 has put his very fucking survival in James’s lap. It was a harder burden to bear than they had any right to ask for, though of course they had no idea. All he could do is grit his teeth and do his job and pray – for the first time in a very long time – that he would be good enough.

"They're one and the same," Q commented, considering that the tech he was preparing was intended to keep them both safe. He knew James was worried, and he was too - but Q hoped that in the few quiet moments they would have before they left they would be able to enjoy each other's company the way they usually did before James left for a mission. Though neither of them said it aloud, they were both preparing for the possibility that James wouldn't return. This case wasn't much different, except there was a chance Q may not return either.

James’s response was curt and to the point, “Either you hired people competent enough to work without you or you did a piss poor job hiring them to begin with.” He completed the rest of the drive in silence, spending half the time trying to get himself to calm down and the other half arguing internally that he should be more angry with Q than he already was. 

Q clenched his jaw and looked out the window. He knew enough about James to know that he wasn't going to be reasonable right now, so he simply didn't respond. His people were competent, but he was the Quartermaster. He had a job to do just like the rest of them and the fact that he'd become an asset shouldn't change that at all. He kept his hand on James' knee, though, needing some form of closeness since the other man was being so distant. Lost in his concern as he was, Q understood, but he still hoped that they could have some semblance of normalcy once they got back to his flat. 

It was silent until they pulled into the garage, but as James shifted into reverse to back into the parking spot he let his hand slip off the shifter to drop gently over Q’s, just for a moment before he put the vehicle in park and slid out of it. He was angry because he was worried and the outlet he wanted – cursing Mallory to hell and back for even thinking of putting their Quartermaster in the field – was off the table. As he headed to his flat he did the best he could to ensure he wasn’t taking it out on Q instead, at least no further than he already had. 

Q followed behind James dutifully, hoping that nothing he did would set him off. He could tell the other man was wound tight with anger and anxiety. Q understood the risks and the need for his presence in the field. They had two double-ohs already on site, James would be escorting him personally, and two others were keeping Spectre distracted. He had to have faith in the system. However, Q didn't want to bring something up that would cause a row so he just stayed quiet as they entered the flat. He was too distracted by his own thoughts about the tech he'd been interrupted from working on to be tired or even hungry.

James moved through the flat methodically, immediately gesturing to the table once he had removed his shoes, “Sit down.” Expecting his order to be obeyed, he went into the kitchen and began preparing dinner without comment. He was going to ensure Q was fed, properly rested, and starting tomorrow ensure he got all the training James could shove into one twelve hour period. The dinner he chose came together quickly, simple and full of protein, and he had it plated and ready to deliver to Q within fifteen minutes. 

Q frowned and sat down, staring down at the table. He didn't want James acting like this. He was 007, efficient and focused on his asset. But he didn't want a fight, and if it made James feel better he didn't really have a reason to argue. He murmured a quiet thanks once the food was delivered but mostly pushed it around his plate. Q was too full of nervous energy to be hungry, stomach clenching every time he tried to get down another bite.

Watching Q carefully, James caught on almost immediately when he didn’t actually eat. With some mental effort on his part he managed to make himself slow down, sitting across from Q and gentling his tone, “Please eat, Q.” He had made a plate for himself and began eating on pace with Q, hoping to show him how little he’d actually been taking in. Though he was still high on adrenaline there was love in his eyes, a gentleness that belied his gruff handling of Q so far. 

The sudden change from 007 to James caught Q off guard. He sighed and set the fork down, pulling his glasses off and rubbing at his eyes. "I'm not being obstinate on purpose. I'm just too anxious to eat," Q replied, opting for the truth. He was surprised he'd gotten down as much as he did. Sighing, he pulled his glasses back on and made a concerted effort to try to get more down, but it just made his stomach roil.

James nodded, the movement one of understanding. He’d faced many meals like that when he’d been a new field agent, sick over his first successful kills. But he’d forced himself to move past it, knowing that working on an empty stomach was a distraction and a threat. So he pushed Q to eat more, as gently as he could while still being firm, knowing that every bite mattered and Q needed to prepare himself for the mission to come. 

Q ate as much as he could before he shook his head and stood up, feeling sick. "I'll eat in the morning. Toast. Something easy to get down." He hoped that would suffice for James, who he could tell was still not satisfied with what he'd eaten. He turned from the table and paced into the living room, picking up Turing and stroking his fur as though that would calm him down. Q swore he didn't feel this anxious until he'd come home and had nothing else to occupy his thoughts.

The comment made James frown, but otherwise he made no comment. Standing, he swept the table clean in one trip, leaving the dishes in the sink for another time. Returning to Q, James caught him gently around the waist mid-pacing and pulled his back against the older man’s chest, holding him gently. There were a million things James could say but none of them would make a difference – some things, like your first mission, had to be experienced for yourself. And regardless, James was probably more nervous than Q at this point, he just channeled it differently. 

Q tensed at first but it was only momentary. Sighing, he released Turing and leaned back against James’ chest, resting his hands on the other man’s arm. “I trust you. I trust 004 and 006. I trust Q Division, and R. This is a solid plan. We’re going to be fine.” The words were meant to convince James to calm down but Q had to admit they held the same effect for him. He did believe in the team that had been put together, in the plan, and in James’ abilities as well as his own but it was still a daunting task. Honestly, he wasn’t afraid as much as he was anxious – once it was started, Q was fairly certain he’d be able to focus enough that it wouldn’t matter what his feelings were. 

“You will be fine,” James murmured, though his voice had steel threaded through it. He pressed his forehead into the messy wash of Q’s hair, taking a deep breath and letting Q’s scent drift over him. It was comforting, the familiar, and James used it to the best advantage he could. With this mission he had no concerns at all about himself – the only objective was making sure Q made it home whole and unharmed. As long as he accomplished that nothing else mattered. 

"I know I will," Q agreed, letting his weight settle back against James' chest. He believed it, needed to believe it. Q was capable of being patient but found it hard to still his mind when there was nothing to do but wait, and James' focus on the mission wasn't doing much to distract him. He sighed and turned in the other man's arms, leaning up to kiss him lightly. "Hovering over me won't make this any easier. I know the risks better than most of your other assets."

That was part of what worried James, “And the chances of you growing overconfident because of that and failing to follow my orders because you think know better are higher.” With that he opted for another kiss, thinking maybe getting lost in their bodies was going to be the only thing to get them both to sleep. It had been a long time since James lost shut eye over a mission… it made him resent M all the more for proposing this ludicrous idea. 

Q pulled away from the kiss and shook his head. He wanted to get lost in something and James was offering - he could tell by the edge in the way he kissed him that he was thinking the same thing. But he wanted the other man to understand. "I promise, James, I am a man who knows my limits. I only know better when I can see everything. Just because I know myself doesn't mean I'm eager to disobey you in the field. You're the expert, I'm the asset. I've seen too many get killed for making stupid mistakes and I've no desire to add my own name to that list." That said, he took a breath, pressing his bulk against James' chest. "But for now, I'd really rather you take my mind off it."

James captured Q’s face in his hands, searching his eyes wordlessly for a long moment before deciding that he saw what he needed to. With a sharp nod he pulled Q in for another kiss, tongue fucking his mouth open in a clear imitation of what was awaiting them next. His hands, once they slid down to grip Q’s hips, were clenched possessively, hard enough to leave little fingerprint bruises. He used that grip to lift Q as though he weighed no more than a feather, leaving the other man to wrap his legs around his waist as he headed for the bedroom.


	44. Saving Your Neck

As usual, James performed his duty perfectly. Though he tried not to think of it this way, it was a very good possibly-last fuck, and Q had very little trouble falling asleep after. He knew the next day there would be very little time for this, with all the training he was sure James would put him through, the prototypes to be approved and prepared, and the preparations from the trip itself would take up all their time. At least it would keep him exhausted. The next morning, Q woke when he felt James slide out of bed. He rubbed at his eyes and sat up, feeling around for wherever he'd tossed his glasses the night before. "James...?"

“Here,” came the quiet response. James, already half dressed, was in the bathroom preparing for their morning at the sink. He moved with the same efficient grace he used in the field, body perfectly under his control at all times. His eyes were focused, hand steady as he began scraping away the bit of stubble clinging to his jaw. The best way to handle this mission was treating it as any other, not letting his emotions cloud his routines or his judgement. 

After finally finding his glasses, Q pulled himself out of bed and pulled on a robe, padding into the bathroom and kissing James' shoulder. "I'm going to take a shower. Would you mind terribly putting something together for breakfast?" Given how concerned the other man was about his eating habits the night before, Q hoped that the request would be appreciated. Knowing that they didn't have much time for intimacy, Q simply stripped the robe off and turned the water on, not wasting any time in getting ready.

The way James’s eyes softened at the kiss, coupled with the short nod he gave in response to Q’s inquiry made it clear he was grateful for both those things. He wasn’t anxious but he was ready – the sooner they got on with their day the sooner it would end and they would be on mission. The sooner they were on mission the sooner it would be over and they would be home. When he was finished shaving he allowed himself a fleeting glance at Q’s lithe form through the shower door, enjoying the somewhat obscured view before he left their room to begin breakfast.

Q showered quickly, still able to feel the ache from the previous night when he emerged. He brushed his teeth and his hair quickly before he got dressed and found he actually appreciated the smell of whatever James was cooking. His small dinner the night before made him hungry enough to eat today, which he hoped was a good sign. "Thank you," he said with a small smile as he entered the kitchen to find breakfast nearly finished. "What do you have in mind for today? I'll need to meet with Q Division for a few things, but I know you had plans as well."

That got Q a sharp look and the start of a scowl tugging at James’s lips, “I made it clear I require all of your time today, Quartermaster. Yesterday as well, but you ignored that.” Scooping the eggs out onto the two plates he had prepared, James was quick and efficient as always as he added the finished toast to the plate as well and flipped the sausage one last time before sliding it out of the pan as the final accoutrement to their meal. He took them to the table and deposited both by the warm mugs of coffee/tea already waiting, taking his seat and just waiting for Q to challenge him. 

Q sighed as he sat, taking a sip of his tea before he looked up at James. "I don't intend to need much time, but I am still the Quartermaster, and as such my presence will be required to sign off on the prototypes you requested. It shouldn't take long." He did his best to keep his tone as non-confrontational as possible while still being firm. "I can do it first thing when we get in while you do whatever you need to prepare, or I can do it on our way out if that makes things easier. But I will need to meet with R at some point."’

“How long?” was the clipped response. James was doing his level best to avoid sounding irritated but, fact of the matter, he was. He had made it quite clear he expected a certain commitment of time and attention from Q for this and it seemed the younger man was hell bent on refusing to do anything to better prepare himself physically for the mission to come. If he let himself be honest about it, James would have had to admit it was making him think Q viewed both James and what he had to teach as relics of an older time. 

Q shrugged. "It will depend on which prototypes you end up choosing. Half an hour, I would imagine?" Q understood the need for what James was preparing him for, but he also understood his own position and what was necessary for his own mind to be prepared. "I suppose it would make the most sense to meet with R at the end of the day. That way we know what we need and it won't be interrupting anything.

Taking a deep breath, James reminded himself to keep tempers under control and managed somewhat gracefully, though his response wasn’t exactly tactful, “Tech won’t save you from everything.” But he dropped the conversation after that, beginning to eat with methodical precision. His mood for the morning was sour already and they hadn’t even left the house. That did not bode well for the rest of the day.

Q frowned, able to tell that something about it had set James off. These were things the other man had asked for, and there were certain protocols that had to be followed. All he had to do was sign off on the tech and do the final testing, something that never took very long. "James." He paused in his eating to reach out and touch his hand. "I know that. But you asked me for these things. The Quartermaster is the one who signs off on them. That's all I'm doing. I promised I would take this seriously and I meant it." He hoped that addressing the other man's concerns would help abate the sour expression he currently wore.

Though he didn’t look up at the sound of Q’s voice the touch of his hand did gain James’s attention. The frown was still on his lips as Q spoke, eyes meeting Q’s under lowered lashes. “Fine,” though he kept his tone from being too clipped, James didn’t wipe the scowl from his face. A half hour he would make due without, but he didn’t believe that’s all the time Q would take. Q and Q-Division were impossible to separate even after hours, much less in the thick of things before a mission.

Frowning, Q pulled his hand away and tried not to sulk. He didn't want James to be angry with him at all, let alone the day before a mission they would both be leaving for. He didn't know what he'd done to make him so irritated, but it seemed nothing he said or did was making it any better so he didn't say anything else at all. Instead, Q ate everything James had made and drank his tea dutifully. He chalked up the other man's mood to stress and hoped it would lessen once they were at MI6 and the training James felt was necessary had begun

Breakfast was finished in quick order and James handled the dishes with quiet efficiency – one thing he could never do is leave his home dirty before he went away. As unattached to the place as he was, it had grown to mean more with Q in residence and he never liked coming home to a mess anyway. He finished preparing for the day by sliding into his holster and jacket, shoes clicking on the hardwood floor as he made for the door, expecting Q to follow. 

Q was prepared by the time James headed for the door, and he followed along behind him quietly. He hoped that the older man would break the silence, given that his question was still unanswered and everything he said seemed to sour the mood more. But James was not one for idle conversation, so the ride to MI6 remained mostly silent as well. R intercepted them at the door, and with a quick glance to James to see how this interruption would be received, he instructed her to finalize the list of prototypes he'd given her the previous night and to wait for him to come to Q Division once James decided their training was finished. He could only hope that James would see he was taking this seriously.


	45. Breaking Mine For You

James had been ready to tell Q that literally turning to his face and telling him to fuck off would have been kinder than continuously blowing off his concerns in favor of his lab but when Q actually told R he would be in later, rather than trailing her down to Q-Division, it brought him some much needed peace. As she left James’s stance relaxed somewhat and he nodded, his voice lighter than it had been, “We’ll start at the firing range.”

When he turned back to James to see him more relaxed, Q was able to relax more himself. He nodded, letting James lead the way. "You do know that my marksmanship is quite good? I know it's different in the field, but I've been practicing on moving targets as well. I've been thinking of rigging the range to be something more like an actual mission but it would require a complete overhaul that I'm not sure M would approve of just yet." Realizing he was babbling, Q cleared his throat. "But I'm sure you had something specific in mind. I trust your judgment."

James only nodded, letting Q wear himself out with his verbosity before responding, “There is one shot I want you to practice, repetitively, until it happens automatically.” Q was a decent shot, but there were some differences between shooting to kill and shooting for self-defense – James was willing and able to make the kill shot, but he needed to ensure Q could incapacitate someone if need be. So their day began and James put Q though his physical paces, pushing him harder than the wiry young man had experienced in many, many years. 

Though Q's work was not usually so physical, he was a quick learner. He tested all the guns and bullets he engineered personally, so he wasn't a stranger to the weapons. He did as he was instructed, hands steady thanks to years of precise use, until James was satisfied with his shooting. It wasn't easy work, though, and the repetition had his arms aching once they were finished. Once they had moved on from that, James tested his strength and endurance, which were not exactly as impressive as his marksmanship. The day wore on and once James deemed it was time to go home so they could be properly rested before their flight, Q stopped in at Q-Division to meet with R. The requested prototypes were ready and Q waved James over to help test them out to decide which would be the most useful.

James was at home in Q-Division as he was in the firing range, clear and honest in his opinions as it was his life on the line if something didn’t work right. Add on to the fact that for this mission it was Q’s life hanging in the balance as well and James was downright brutal, though there wasn’t that much to comment on. Q-Division, as always, did exemplary work. 

All told, Q wasn't too far off the mark. 41 minutes later, he had signed off on the prototypes they'd be taking with them and then they were in the car on the way back to his flat. Q was exhausted down to his bones and didn't even protest that it was hardly 10 o'clock when they got home. He wondered if that was part of James' plan as well.

Getting Q to bed early was an important piece of pre-mission preparation and James was glad to see that his aggressive training throughout the day seemed to have had the desired impact. Sliding out from behind the wheel, James met Q at the boot of the car and gently wrapped his fingers around the younger man’s elbow, maintaining the contact as they headed up to their flat. He wanted them both to crawl into bed and he wanted to feel Q safe in his arms, hold the sensation near in the days to come. 

Q smiled at the contact and leaned into James, appreciating the closeness. "Did I manage to do all you wanted today?" he asked as they entered the flat, toeing off his shoes and dropping his bag on the side table. Pulling his glasses off, Q rubbed at his eyes and sighed. "I hope you didn't have anything else in mind. You've thoroughly exhausted me."

James allowed himself a small smile at that – Q could have used more time in the training rooms but James was certain he would have thought that even if he’d had months to prepare his Quartermaster for the coming mission. “Then let’s go to bed,” he responded, voice gentle as he trailed his fingers through Q’s hair before pulling him in close for a kiss. There was nothing they could do at this point but be together and get some rest, so James did his best to let the residual anger from that morning slide away.

This was the gentlest James had been all day and it relaxed Q further. He leaned into the kiss for a moment before pulling away to yawn. "Sorry," he apologized with a soft smile before heading into the bedroom. Q didn't even bother to change into pajamas, simply shedding his clothes and falling into bed clad in only his boxers. It felt like heaven and he knew it would be difficult to leave it in the morning.

The sound of James’s soft chuckle followed him into the bedroom. The agent also disrobed, though he was not so careless with his suit, careful to hang it alongside the others waiting to be taken in for dry cleaning. He wasn’t willing to risk putting permanent wrinkles into his clothing. That done he crawled into bed beside Q, settling in before he pulled the younger man into his arms and held him close, relishing the sensation of skin on skin contact. It wasn’t until Q that James realized the act of sleeping – just sleeping – with someone else could be so comforting.

Q curled up at James' side and snorted in soft laughter at how reminded he was of his cats and how they slept in a ball pressed against his back. "Are you satisfied with the prototypes?" he asked drowsily, not even bothering to try and open his eyes. Idle conversation often helped him fall asleep, giving his mind something to focus on instead of wandering while he waited for sleep to claim him. 

“Yes,” James responded, his voice a low, warm rumble in the still air. “As long as they work properly in the field,” he teased then, tugging lightly on Q’s hair, the words an unspoken memory. There had been one prototype, in Nambia, that had misfired so spectacularly it left James covered in soot and missing half an eyebrow – Q-Division had been lucky that was just a recon mission and he hadn’t been in the middle of an active encounter. 

Q huffed, opening his eyes for that, partially in amusement though there was an apology in them as well. "I told you that one wasn't ready. I intended to test it some more, but that's what you get for taking things without approval," he replied, making his point once more about James' reckless use of tech from Q-Division. He had already beaten himself up over it enough; James was unharmed and the mission was successful so he let it go, closing his eyes again.

The laugh that escaped James was genuine and soft, “Touché.” He was the one who had made the unauthorized decision to snake the prototype right before he left on mission, knowing he would be long gone before anyone realized it was missing. Tilting his head he kissed Q’s forehead, lips brushing skin gently. He valued, respected, and needed this man more than anyone else in the world. He would ensure they had more nights like this, no matter the cost. 

Sighing, Q shifted slightly, his head pillowing on James' shoulder. "I think we could both use some sleep. I'll have plenty of time to remind you of the consequences of your unauthorized use of my tech once we get home." If he kept reminding himself and James how much he believed they would both be safe, Q hoped that it would somehow help. Having confidence in a mission certainly couldn't hurt.

The smirk woven through James’s tone came through clear as a bell, “Remind me of the consequences, hm?” He stroked a lazy hand down Q’s thigh, innuendo laden without being firm enough to actually suggest more was going to happen that night, “Are you planning on punishing me when we return, Q? I do enjoy seeing you so… stern.” His tone morphed into one of teasing laughter as he continued, “It does bring out your schoolmarm tendencies.” 

"Schoolmarm?" Q asked, shifting so he was partially propped up on his arm so he could look down at James. "I'm certain I don't want to know what kind of schools you went to if that's what you would associate me with." His tone was soft as well, teasing, cheeks creased with the effort it took not to smile fully. "But I have no reason to punish you when we return; you haven't taken any equipment without permission. Although there's always the chance you'll destroy some of it needlessly, in which case yes, I will plan on punishing you when we return."

As James grinned up at Q his smile grew to Cheshire Cat proportions, “I’ll have to ensure I destroy something, then.” Though it was true James generally gravitated toward the penetrative end of things when it came to their coupling, there were instances where letting Q have his way with him truly stroked his libido far beyond the already impressive lengths their usual intercourse managed. As adrenaline high as he was from mission preparation, having Q pull him out of his mind when they returned might be a very necessary arrangement. 

"Don't you dare, James, these prototypes are one of a kind," Q replied more seriously, though he lightened the mood by swatting his shoulder playfully before laying back down. "Besides, if that's what you want, it doesn't have to be a punishment, does it?" he asked playfully, his fingers moving over James' chest, twisting a nipple between his fingers. Q was tired, though, and for all this playful banter was helpful, he could hardly keep his eyes open. "Sleep, now. We'll have time for more of this when we get back."

James settled almost immediately at Q’s words – they’d been together long enough for him to know the younger man’s quirks and was grateful that he was ready for sleep. Snugging himself back into his pillow, James adjusted Q slightly in his arms and started to run gentle fingers through his hair, voice quiet and laden with warm affection as he soothed Q to sleep, “Yes, we will. We’ll take a whole damn month off if we want to. I’ll find something else of yours to break, then – it doesn’t quite bring out that schoolmarm side of you unless it’s a punishment.”

"Don't make me bring a ruler to your knuckles, James. I said sleep," Q replied, voice muffled with fatigue. He felt the smile that was James' response and within moments he was asleep.


	46. Mission Critical

The morning came far sooner than was welcome, but Q felt wide awake as soon as the alarm went off, adrenaline already starting to make its way through him. He sat up and looked at James who was already awake, just studying his face in silence for a few moments. These may be the last few moments of peace they would have, and though Q did his best not to be fatalistic, it was difficult not to be when he was heading into the lion's den, so to speak. Once he'd taken his moment, he nodded and was out of bed and dressed in short order, and they headed to the airport in tense silence.

James was just as quiet as Q as they prepared for the rest of their day; he had taken that morning to drink in the view of Q in the early morning light, still disheveled from sleep and showing his youth most clearly. It was a sight James relished and he adamantly refused to even consider the thought he might never see it again. He escorted Q throughout their morning, chaperoning him with loving, protective concern. He was tense during the flight, though he tried his best not to be.

The only comfort he took was the tight, surprisingly public grip he kept on Q’s hand through the whole trip. On the ground things went much the same, though the moment their feet touched solid ground James was the consummate professional, handling Q exactly as trained when it came to an asset. By the time they made it to the outskirts of the facility James was completely and totally in full force as 007.

Q took the time to fully appreciate the affection James showed on the flight, knowing as soon as they landed he would be focused on the mission and the switch from James to 007 would be made. For his part, he followed directions exactly as instructed, holding his duffel bag closely as he worked through everything he would have to accomplish. Once they reached the facility where 004 and 006 were waiting, he felt almost relieved. Finally, this was it - the thing he'd been so anxious about these past few days was here. 004 and 006 greeted them with curt nods, and he waited for James to take stock of the situation before they could proceed.

"007," Trevelyan greeted with a nod, just as professional as James in spite of their friendship. "R has been monitoring the cameras - 004 installed something that allows her access to the closed circuit loop they're on so we've got good intel. Good news is that they're light on support at the moment - bad news is that the goons that are here are mostly where you two need to be."

“Of course they are,” he responded, voice cool and clipped as he spoke, every centimeter the consummate professional, “and how are you going to remove them?” He waited for a response with his gaze fixed on the facility, clearly already taking in the layout as he could see it and making an additional assessment now that he had his feet on the ground – blueprints and digital layouts were wonderful, but some things had to be felt in real time to truly understand. 

Trevelyan laughed briefly. "The same way we always do. 004 and I will lead, you two will follow. We'll get rid of the rabble and keep a lookout for more while our Quartermaster does whatever he needs to." Q shifted the bag he was holding, uncomfortable with the gun holster over his shoulders. He nodded at 006's words, knowing before James said anything that 006 and 004 would be in the lead, followed by him, with James bringing up the rear. Keeping the asset protected from all sides. He looked to James, now, waiting for his next orders.

James nodded then, though he was clearly still busy with his surveillance. Leaning down, he pawed through Alec’s kit and came up with the spyglass, using it for a closer look, canvassing what exits and escape routes he could see. Though he knew that Alec knew – they all knew, they’d been preparing for days – he was still lead on this mission now and it was his person on the line. So he asked the question anyway, even if it sounded like a statement, “Our main route in and out, plus the next two contingencies if they fail.”

006 walked him through everything that R had outlined based on the video feed. "R will guide us if anything goes astray," he added after he'd answered James' question. Q was shifting slightly from foot to foot, anxious to get moving though he knew better than to say anything. This was James on the line, as well as two agents he'd happened to be fond of through their work together - he didn't want to be the reason any of them didn't make it back home.

Only once he was certain that everyone knew the plan by heart did James look to Q, voice stern and still in mission mode as he spoke, “Your role and responsibilities.” He watched Q with steel in his gaze, just as critical as he was with 006 and 004. There was no room for ego in a situation like this.

Q stood a little straighter under the weight of James' gaze. "I'm to follow your orders until we arrive at the proper terminal. Then I'll copy the information onto a secure server for MI6 to review while at the same time destroying the information on the hard drive. Assuming I can safely complete that before backup arrives, we will return back to London triumphantly. If something goes amiss, I'm to abort and do as instructed."

James nodded. Though a small part of him wanted to lecture Q on behaving exactly as told they’d gone over it a million times before. Q was an asset, yes, but a competent and professional one and he deserved to be treated as one. Finally satisfied that they could not be any more prepared than they already were, James looked to Alec. “Lead the way, 006,” he commented, a hit of his usual wry tone underlying his words.

006 gave him a half-mocking salute before he turned and gestured for 004 to head out. She nodded and took point, 006 right behind. Q didn't hesitate as he followed him, feeling James moving in behind him as they made their way into the facility. Once they reached the agreed upon location, 006 and 004 broke away to take care of the guards while R monitored the hallways to make sure no one snuck up on Q and James while they waited. 10 minutes later, Trevelyan's voice sounded over the earpiece. "All clear. 007, escort the asset to the terminal."

James hustled Q out of their hiding spot with alacrity, leading him directly to his work space. Taking a deep breath, James ensured Q was in position and then immediately turned his back, moving into a wide ranging semi-circle with 006 and 004, flanking Q to protect him from all possible comers. 

Q opened his duffle bag and got to work, hardwiring the server for MI6 into the terminal before he set to dismantling the firewalls. It was a long and tedious process, and he had only himself to thank for it - Spectre was using his own system and he'd designed it to be difficult to access and it was, even for himself. He was nearly through the firewalls when he heard 004's voice over the comm, her voice clipped. "R, report, I hear movement in my quadrant." There was silence for a moment before R replied. "Nothing. No movement - wait - a shadow, there's a blind spot." Q paused as they spoke, momentarily distracted by their conversation. But his work was too important to interrupt, so he forced himself to continue. "Still no movement. Hold position, 004." R's voice was soft, though Q could hear the strain in it. "I see him now. He's moving away from you. All clear."

It was all clear for three minutes more - then an explosion tore through the hallway where the blind spot had been. It wasn't enough to bring the floor down, but it was enough to jolt Q, his fingers flying over the keys with renewed speed. "004, report!" R ordered, and the choked voice of the agent came soon after. "Shrapnel in my left side. I'm still mobile." Relief flooded Q but he didn't slow, and he tapped the remote in his pocket that would activate the hologram to respond to movement to provide a distraction should one be needed.

All at once, everything changed. The floor above them had been dark, and R was unable to monitor it due to the lack of visibility. It gave Spectre the cover they needed - all at once they emerged in the stairwells surrounding Q and the agents, and R issued a warning as soon as she saw it. "Enemies descending the stairwells from all sides.004, there are several coming down from the hole in the floor from the explosion as well. Return to the asset immediately."

James didn’t even need to be told once. The moment he heard the explosion rip through the building James whipped around and headed right back to Q, knowing his only job right now was to get him out whole and alive. Damn the data, damn the other two double ohs, the only objective now was Q. He could feel anger thrumming in his veins – how had Q-Division been so bloody foolish to let this happen – but now was not the time to allow the sensation in. He would address it once Q was out.

Q could hear the approaching footsteps and hoped it was one of the agents. His fingers tapped in the last few lines of code needed to infect the mainframe with a virus and remove the information. He pulled the wires out of the server he'd copied the information onto before entering the virus, stuffing it into his bag and lifting it onto his shoulder as James came into view. He pulled his own Walther from its harness as he'd been instructed to do in case things went south, nodding as James approached. "Everything's accomplished on my end," he confirmed, knowing they wouldn't have time for much discussion. R's voice was in his ear, guiding 006 and 004 against their enemies who had not yet gotten close enough to him for James to worry about. "The hologram's on. It'll buy us time. R, is there a clear route North?"

With the sounds of Q-Division distant but recognizable in his ear, James ran full force for Q and had to physically restrain himself from throwing the young man over his shoulder and running him to safety. As it was he was tense and alert, sweeping the entry points for any newcomers before speaking, voice a commanding thrum that demanded obedience, “Behind me! Watch our backs. You see something, alert me and drop to the side.” James knew Q already knew these things, but they bared repeating. 

Q nodded, knowing better than to argue now and that his concern over James' well-being was misplaced. The agent taking the lead was their best shot at getting out. Q didn't want to make the mistake of getting in the way and costing either of them their lives, even if it felt wrong to duck for cover and leave the man he loved out in the open when his body could be a shield. Funny, he thought, that self-preservation could be so easily cast aside in the name of an emotion. Once James set off following R's instructions, Q was right behind him. He heard the shouts once the Spectre goons came across the hologram, heard them following it in the wrong direction. Later, he would be amused that men from an organization called Spectre would get distracted by ghosts.

Even with 004 and 006 picking off their pursuers, they were still running toward the thick of things. He heard James fire two rounds, heard the bodies falling, but everything was a blur. He kept an eye on their backs as they retreated, but they had enough of a head start that they hadn't closed in from the other end yet. They went past the crater where 004 had been, and Q nearly tripped in surprise when he saw someone jumping down from the second floor. "James-!" he warned, ducking down as the other man took aim.

James’s preternatural sense of his surroundings tripped him off nanoseconds before Q’s words spurred his actions on with an even greater sense of urgency. It was one smooth arc – from pivoting on his foot, executing the turn, raising his arms, sighting his target, and pulling the trigger – that was over in a matter of seconds and ended with the dull thud of a dead body hitting the ground. It was murder number James-Lost-Count-Years-Ago, just another lifeless shell that meant he’d drink a little more as the years wore on and lose himself in Q every chance he got. 

This was about getting him out alive. Saving the bright, brilliant young man who loved him against all sense and sensibility. In an instant he was focused on the escape route again, hand yanking Q back to the spot directly behind him before taking off, the momentary contact electric in how desperate James was to ensure himself that Q was still warm, breathing, and there. 

James was a double-oh for a reason. The shot rang out before he had even fully ducked, and Q accepted the help up gratefully and was on James' heels as they continued heading through the facility toward the exit. 004 and 006 were equally good at their jobs; though outnumbered, they had R to guide them and were better shots besides. From the sounds of it, some of Spectre's men were retreating before they even reached the agents due to the carnage that preceded them. The sound of gunshots got louder the closer to the exit they got, and it occurred to Q that there could be reinforcements on the way. It would be so easy to be outnumbered in the stretch between the facility and the woods where the extraction point was, especially without the cover being inside would afford.


	47. The Guillotine Hums

James made quick work of anyone who stood in their way, though, and far sooner than he could have expected Q found himself outside again. When he didn't hear the sound of a helicopter or wheels approaching, he almost felt as though he could breathe easier. 004 and 006 had even confirmed they were heading toward the extraction point as well. It wasn't until he heard R's sharp intake of breath that he even suspected things could go wrong now that they were outside and heading toward the edge of the woods. Before she could even speak, Q shifted, knowing that whatever she was about to say didn't bode well. "Sniper, southeast corner," she called out. Q threw himself to the side, out of the immediate line of sight. Too late to avoid being hit, though fast enough to avoid being killed.

The searing pain of the bullet made his vision white out for a moment, though adrenaline kept him moving. He rolled behind a car and hoped it would provide enough cover. Q took stock of himself, flexing his fingers and tensing his legs. The pain was coming from his left side and he could feel the blood soaking his shirt and making it stick to his skin. "006, divert course, eliminate the sniper on the roof. Q, remain where you are, you're safe there," R's voice in his ear. He nodded and pressed his hand against his side to try and stop the bleeding. "Roger," he replied weakly, looking for James and hoping that he hadn't been shot too.

Sniper. It was one of the only words that could actually strike a chord of fear within James, a threat he couldn’t fight back against but only try to hide from. He had already been turning, hand outstretched to pull Q in front of him and use his own body as a shield when Q threw himself to the side just as the shot rang out. It was a suspended moment in time; for a fraction of a second everything froze as James could have sworn he watched the bullet dig into Q’s fragile, thin skin and embed itself in his body. 

With a wordless roar, James flung himself after the younger man, pulling him into his arms as they hunkered behind the car, holding him tight and balling him up as small against his chest as he could make him. He was heedless of Q’s wound – had to be for now, hoped the adrenaline would be enough to stop him from feeling the pain for a minute. “Cover us, dammit,” he snarled into the comm, panicked rage edging every word, “how the hell did we not have eyes on him sooner!?” James was taut as a bow string, body thrumming with the need to move, mind forcing himself to stillness regardless. He knew better than to blindly run from cover with a sniper trying to take them out. 

As the initial adrenaline wore off enough for Q to be more aware of his surroundings, he felt James' presence against him. "James... you're here..." he wondered aloud, forgetting not to be so familiar for the moment. R was silent, guiding 006 to the roof as 004 kept any others from leaving the building and getting to where James and Q were. 

"007, you're clear. Continue to the extraction point, a medical team is on its way," R said a few minutes later, once the sniper had been handled and 006 cleared the roof. Q shifted to get to his feet, hand still pressed against his side.

Hearing the delirious wonder in Q’s voice made James’s heart clench. Though he didn’t respond verbally he did take the time to rip a strip from his shirt, binding it tight around Q’s wound as best he could without exposing either of them to the sniper above. That done, all he could do was hold his hands over Q’s and help him exert pressure on the makeshift dressing and wait. 

When the all clear was finally given, James moved fast. Before Q could do anything more than think about standing upright, James brought his arms even tighter around him. 006 may have eliminated the threat on the rooftops, but R had missed the sniper to begin with and gotten her boss shot because of it. No way in hell was James taking any more risk. Rising to his feet he kept Q in his arms, the vital areas of his body shielded by James’s bulk. He took just a moment to be grateful that Q was smart enough to keep pressure on the wound before he was running, pelting full force toward the extraction point. 

Q felt himself be lifted and he hissed at the little shocks of pain that went through him with each footfall as James ran. He wanted to protest, to insist that he was fine, but he knew it would fall on deaf ears so he saved his breath. They made it to the extraction point before the medical team and the other agents, and Q was panting by the time James stopped. He gestured to the ground briefly. "Put me down. I'm all right. I don't think I've lost that much blood, my vision's clear," he directed, wanting to see the damage for himself.

“No,” James’s voice was clear and hard, though it was clear the anger in it wasn’t directed at Q. The younger man has never taken a bullet before, probably thinks he knows how to handle himself at this point, but James knows he doesn’t. If he obeyed, the moment he set Q on his feet there is a very high chance the young man would collapse into a heap on the ground. So he kept Q in tight, close and safe, and went back to helping him apply pressure as they waited. 

"At least set me down so one of us can get a look at it. I don't know it if passed through or not," Q insisted, grimacing as he shifted to get into a better position to apply pressure. He knew that the fact he was so alert and aware of his pain and his surroundings was a good thing. He hadn't lost enough blood for his vision to be blurry or otherwise effected, and he wasn't shaking. "What's the status of the medevac team?" he asked and R's voice replied, steady in his ear. "Three minutes."

“If it was a through and through you’d be bleeding out the other hole and you’d know,” James growled, voice low. He was still tense as a taut bowstring, controlled as always while on a mission yet still on high alert. He wanted that medivac team here yesterday. As far as he was concerned, with as asset as valuable as Q they should have been here to begin with, just in case. Keeping to radio silence as he should with nothing value add to say, James nonetheless had to hold his tongue in check – R was going to be in for it, as far as he was concerned. 

"I can't very well tell whether or not there's another hole without looking, can I?" Q asked, though his tone was gentle. He knew James was worried and he wanted to do what he could to show him that he'd be all right. It felt like he'd only gotten clipped rather than fully shot, though that didn't stop it from hurting terribly. Still, James didn't move until the medevac team arrived just under three minutes later.

Eschewing the help of the medivac team, James refused to let them take Q from his arms. Instead he boarded the helicopter himself, only releasing Q to lay him gently down on the gurney. The worry in his eyes was overflowing, though it was the only outward sign of his concern. Certain Q was now as safe and comfortable as he could be, James stepped back to allow the medics to do their job, hovering over them as though ready to enlist his license to kill again if they even dared to breath while working to ensure his survival.

Q didn't say anything to James about his refusal to relinquish him to the medical team right away; he could feel how tense his body was and knew he must still be afraid for him. He reached out and squeezed the agent's hand briefly before he was set down, trying to smile encouragingly before the medics surrounded him and saw to his wound. They concluded that the bullet had more or less just torn through the fleshy part of his side - it was more than just a graze but it seemed to have missed his kidney. It had been high up enough that it cracked a rib as it passed through but from what their ultrasound could tell there were no bone shards to worry about. All in all, Q would only need stitches and bed rest.

When the verdict on Q’s condition was finally revealed to be non-serious, all things considered, James let out a breath of relief. Had he not been in the field, surrounded by people who didn’t actually know what he and Q were to each other, he may even have let himself go boneless. But he was in the field, the two other double-oh agents had arrived as well, and he was surrounded by watching eyes. Taking up post by the door, James grabbed his gun and began to offer cover as the helicopter lifted off.


	48. Power Is On

The medics gave Q something for the pain before they stitched him up, which was a relief. He didn't like flying in a helicopter any more than he liked flying in a plane. He allowed himself to be pulled under by the weight of the pain medication and by the time he woke he was in a hotel bed. Groaning softly, he pushed himself up onto his elbows, then hissed when the action put strain on his stitches. "James...?"

At his side in an instant, James eased Q back down onto the sheets and smoothed his hair away from his face with the gentle command of, “Hold still.” They were still in foreign territory, though quite a bit safer at the secure hotel, and their flight back to London would be leaving in the morning. Sliding into bed beside him, James slid a gentle hand low around Q’s hips and held him near, lips pressed against his shoulder. James was so grateful to have Q alive beside him that it made him even less verbal than normal.

He didn't need to be told; as soon as James was beside him Q sank back against the mattress and closed his eyes against the lingering effects of the main medication. "How is 004? And the hard drive, was it damaged? I was carrying it on the opposite side but I don't remember what happened after..." he trailed off, trying to piece together the events after he'd gotten shot but for the life of him Q couldn't recall if he dropped the duffle bag or not. "I didn't leave it, did I?"

At that, James huffed a soft chuckle out against Q’s skin, “No. It’s the one thing that made you look like you might have the beginnings of a field agent in you. You held on to your target information like a hungry dog with a bone.” There was warmth in James’s tone - clearly, even with how worried he was, James was proud of how hard Q had worked to complete his mission successfully. “The others are fine,” he added then, fingers gently stroking over Q’s uninjured side. 

Q relaxed and nodded - if he had to get shot, at least he managed to hold onto the information he'd been shot for. "Good. Our flight?" he asked, tilting his head back to look at James. He didn't look forward to another flight but at least this one would bring them home triumphantly. Hopefully he wouldn't have to worry about another trip to the field, either.

“Tomorrow,” James soothed, pressing his lips against Q’s skin in a reverent kiss. “Go back to sleep,” he urged then, still gently stroking Q’s skin, coaxing him back into closing his eyes and letting the pull of the drugs lead him back to peaceful blackness. James was a patient man and Q was the man most worth being patient for – so James waited, watched, and kept gentle hands on him as long as Q needed. 

As Q was drifting back to sleep, James' words came back to him, about being a field agent. It was minutes later and he was already half unconscious, but a soft laugh escaped him, the sound somewhat garbled. "Terrible idea," Q murmured softly against James' shoulder, though he didn't verbally elaborate. Mentally, he was thinking about how he'd never be able to work with James specifically, how he'd always be worried about his safety. He was too out of it to express that, though.

Though the laugh surprised him somewhat, James was fairly certain he had a good idea of where it came from. He’d been under the haze of enough powerful narcotic painkillers himself to understand how they dulled your comprehension and made processing anything said to you slower. Q was going through the same thing. Allowing himself a small smile, James just kissed Q’s shoulder again and whispered quietly, “Yes, you belong in your office tinkering, Q, nowhere else.”

The following day, beyond all measure of reason, Q was still exhausted. The painkillers had worn off and he didn't want to be too drugged to make a report once they returned to London. He allowed James to help him dress and they made their way to the airport alongside 004 and 006. "How's our favorite Quartermaster fairing this morning?" Alec asked fondly, looking between him and James, who exited the hotel room with him. "You must be doing just fine if 007 spent the night," he continued, teasing with a raised eyebrow. Q gave him a flat look. "007 was simply completing his duties as my chaperone. Must you always jump to conclusions?"

Alec’s easy shrug was the only response and to a casual onlooker, it would have come off as nothing but a tease. But James… James knew better and the look he shot Alec cut knife sharp. He hadn’t told Alec anything about his relationship with Q but they’d been coworkers and friends for a very long time – Alec knew him in a way that nobody else did. After this mission it definitely meant Alec was going to have suspicions, too. But James didn’t need them broadcasted to the world. 

"It's probably because Trevelyan will jump into bed with anyone regardless of his own condition. He just assumes it’s the same for everyone," 004 cut in. For all that she was silent and serious during missions, she was far more outgoing outside of them. She nudged Alec's arm and gestured for the other two men to follow her. "Car's ready," was all she said before turning and heading downstairs.

Grateful for her assistance – whether given knowingly or not – James let the conversation lapse and guided Q toward the car, hand on his elbow gripping a little more tightly than strictly necessary. As they all piled into the government issued black sedan, James allowed himself another sigh of relief – bullet proof glass and reinforced steel surrounded them, affording Q that much more protection. 

The trip back to London was far less anxiety-inducing than the one he'd been on two days ago, and Q was grateful for that. Once they landed and were ferried to MI6, he handed over the duffle bag to Tanner before being taken to medical. He knew that James would have insisted even though he'd already been taken care of, so he didn't try to get out of it. Medical released Q after confirming all he needed now was rest. He requested that James take him back to his flat since he was uninjured and had no other duties, staying as professional as always until they were alone together again.

The moment James locked the door behind them his hands were on Q, lifting up his shirt to get a careful but close look at his wound. He’d seen it at a distance in the medivac, wanted to look at it in the hotel but hadn’t wanted to wake Q, and hadn’t had a chance to be intimate with him since. Dropping to his knees at Q’s side, James looked over the wound with a critical eye, ensuring the work was correct and reassuring himself that Q would survive. 

Q sighed indulgently, remaining still and allowing James to see with his own eyes that he would be all right. It hurt whenever he twisted his body or stood, but it wasn't a life-altering kind of pain and he was sure with a few days' rest he'd be fine to work again. "Satisfied?" he asked softly once James seemed to have looked his fill, though the other man was still kneeling. "I'm fine, James. All it amounts to is a scratch. We have a very competent medical team."

“It is quite a bit more than a scratch,” James scolded, well aware of the hypocrisy in that statement. He’d written off far more damaging wounds than Q’s as a scratch himself, but he was a double oh, trained to handle that sort of thing and used to facing it as an occupational hazard. Q was meant to be safely ensconced in subterranean London at all times while working. But he was satisfied with the state of the wound and he was relieved to find them both back home and safe. Taking a breath, James leaned his head gently against Q’s hip and breathed deep against the fabric of his pants, taking in his presence and letting it surround him. 

Q let his hand settle in James' hair, massaging his scalp gently the way he sometimes did when the other man had a hard time sleeping. "The point is, I'm going to be all right. I'll have a scar, nothing more." He hoped it was enough to satisfy James. Q got the feeling he'd treat him even more gently than he already did, and that wasn't what he wanted. "I am still exhausted from the flight and all the painkillers, though, so if you wouldn't mind...?" He hoped James would come to bed with him, but the agent could be restless after a mission and he doubted this would be any different.

A scar, nothing more. That was honestly the best that an agent could hope for when returning from a mission – he had to find some way to be at peace with that for Q as well. Allowing himself just a moment more to enjoy Q’s touch, James lingered with Q’s hand in his hair for a few beats of his heart before rising, pressing a feather light kiss below his stitches before gaining his full height. 

“Bed, then,” he nodded, escorting Q back through the flat to their shared room. He was gentle as he helped Q undress, gently guided him between the sheets, and then pulled his own clothing off to join him under the soft cotton. With Q’s wounded side facing away from him, James was able to pull him in close and let Q’s head pillow on his shoulder, “Sleep.”


	49. Catching Up Is Hard To Do

Three days later, Q had kicked James out of his flat so that he could get some work done without being hovered over. He promised he would remain sitting and only do work on his laptop rather than the usual tinkering he did at home but not doing anything was driving him crazy. Knowing that Alec had yet to be reassigned and that James would need a distraction to give him some space, Q suggested he visit his friend before he was sent out again.

It was with a great deal more than reluctance that James finally allowed Q to remove him from his flat. James was certain that the moment he left, Q would be on his feet all day working with soldering irons and electrical wires and putting a strain on his wound. But he also hadn't shown his face at MI6 since their initial visit to medical when they'd returned and he did realize he needed to be careful if he didn't want rumors to start flying. 

So it was that he went, presenting himself to Q-Division for any updates post mission (and perhaps to glare at R for what he felt was her glaring oversight in regards to the sniper) and then checked in with Moneypenny to ensure M had nothing new for him. That done, he left and made his way back into London traffic, phoning Alec from the car. When the other man answered, James was gruff but affectionate, "Where are you, and do you have your wits and your clothes about you?"

Alec laughed in response. "I try to lose both those things for as long as I can while I'm between missions. But you caught me on an off moment. Did you have something planned?" he asked, at ease with James. "I did have plans to lose at least my wits later tonight if you'd like to join me."

James smiled at that, the idea a welcome one, "Where should we meet?" Forty-five minutes later, James strolled into the bar and spotted Alec in a corner booth, ready and waiting for him. "You're on time," he commented, smirking as he did so, "how unusual." Though most of their conversations involved taking the piss out of one another, James had an easy rapport with Alec that he valued. An easy evening with an old friend should help to put his mind at ease.

Alec raised an eyebrow in response, pushing a glass over to James. "Is it that I'm on time, or that you're late?" he replied with a smirk of his own. "Where have you been anyway? No one's seen or heard from you in three days. I'd be worried if I didn't know you better." Alec had his own thoughts about where James had been but it was too early to get into that sort of thing right now.

James shrugged easily, letting the first sip of his drink slide warm and welcome down his throat. "Around," he responded without actually answering the question, leaning over the table to pluck the lone menu from Alec's fingers, "Have you ordered anything yet?"

Alec accepted the non-answer he was given, though it only strengthened his resolve to test his theory later. Most likely once James was a little less than sober. "Not yet. I know how picky you can be," he teased, relinquishing the menu easily to take another drink of his scotch. "I was thinking it's been awhile since we really had a night out. Stringfellows isn't too far away from here."

At that, James set down his menu to cast a look at Alec that clearly showed his disinterest, "If I want a woman, I don't have to pay for her." Strip clubs had never been his thing, even before Q, and especially not now that they were a steady couple. But it was a wonderful opportunity to tease Alec, "I see you're not as skilled?"

"I asked if you wanted to come to Stringfellows, not to a whorehouse," Alec replied with a snort. "You used to like coming there with me. I know strip clubs aren't your usual preference, but the place is upscale. At least there are women to look at there," he added, glancing around at the bar that was mostly full of men enjoying an after work drink.

James laughed, letting another warm slide of liquor slip down his throat before he responded, "You can't go half an hour without looking at a woman, Alec?" It felt easy, to be with Alec, tease and talk and know that they understood one another, even if they never actually spoke about the rigors of the job, "Sad little man, aren't you?"

"We all have our vices," Alec replied with a shrug. "Are you not interested in looking at women anymore?" he continued, lips quirked up in a slight smirk as he teased. Alec presented the question as a tease, anyway, though he was looking for a reaction that might give weight to his theory. Not that James was an easy man to read, but Alec liked to think they'd been friends for long enough that he could figure out his subtle tells.

James rolled his eyes at that and deigned to respond, finding the question to be beneath him. He still fucked his way through as many missions as required it, was wildly successfully in his honeypot operations and probably would be for a very long time to come. Finishing his drink, he brought the menu back up between them and spent a few minutes perusing it, before deciding on a light appetizer to hold them over until he decided whether or not to indulge Alec in a change of scenery, if not a full on strip club.

Alec chuckled at James' lack of response, flicking the back of the menu just to be irritating before he took another drink of his scotch. It wasn't just that he wanted to test a theory; he honestly liked going to whatever strip clubs he could convince James to accompany him to. Maybe it was a little juvenile, but it was something Alec enjoyed. James did too, even if he wouldn't admit it. 

James set the menu down with a crisp snap of his wrist, ensuring the laminated paper smacked against the other agent's wandering hand. "Honestly, Alec," he commented before waving the waiter over, requesting their appetizer and another drink. He loved Alec in his own way, enjoyed spending time with him, but he'd made a promise in the hot desert heat that he wouldn't sleep with anyone outside a mission. Strip clubs felt like toeing the line and James wasn't interested in that. 

Laughing, Alec pulled his hand back and did his best to look innocent. Their friendship revolved around playful rivalry and teasing, and they both tended to get somewhat childish when they were off the clock. It was a coping method, though, acting foolish when they could in contrast to the serious nature of their jobs. Once the food had been ordered and another drink procured, Alec drained the rest of his scotch. "Seriously though, James. You have to admit Stringfellows has a much more pleasant atmosphere."

“You’re like a dog with a bone,” he commented in response, though Alec was starting to wear him down. Reaching for his phone, James texted Q to advise of Alec’s request and discretely ask for permission – staying forthright and honest mattered to him, especially considering all they’d been through to get to such a good spot. As he waited for a response, James allowed himself to really look at Alec and almost immediately caught the glint in his eye – the other man was planning something. Dog with a bone, indeed. 

"Well, I don't mind going alone, but you're usually decent company. Besides, we're not both in London at the same time very often. Why not celebrate?" Alec was doing his best not to seem like he was planning something, but James knew him just as well as he knew James. He wanted to be nosy about who he was texting - which wasn't something the other man did often - but he laid off for the moment, waiting for James to reply. 

When James’s phone lit up with a two-word response less than a minute later, he sighed softly to himself. 'Have fun.' was all Q had to say and somehow, James could imagine the younger man wearing a cheeky smile as he typed back. “Fine,” the double oh finally conceded, vaguely amused at Alec’s insistence, “we’ll go.” With that, their appetizer arrived and James made a show of eating the first bite very slowly, “Once I finish.”

Alec grinned - the fact that James texted someone and only responded once he'd gotten a reply gave him all the more reason to believe he was with someone. Why else would he need to ask for permission - and what else could that text have been if not that? "I'm not in a hurry," he replied, taking a bite of his own before he nodded toward James' phone. "Someone we should invite with us?"

At that James arched one of his eyebrows, the look clearly telegraphing that Alec should tread carefully, “I know you love your tech, but phones aren’t sentient objects, Alec. It doesn’t need an invitation.” Tucking his phone into the inside breast pocket of his jacket, James returned his focus to his food, enjoying the leisurely fare. 

At that comment, Alec tipped his head back and laughed. James wasn't usually so tight-lipped with him, so his avoidance was giving him even more ammunition. Instead, he lifted his drink as though he was making a toast. "Touche," was all he said before taking a sip. For this to go as planned, Alec knew he would have to take it easy on the drinks. James needed to be the sloppy one, not him.

James chuckled softly and responded with another sip of his own drink, before letting the conversation lapse into comfortable silence as they finished sharing their food. That done, James paid for the table as a whole, with a passing comment to the truth of Alec’s words that they were almost never in London together and should celebrate the occasion. As they left, James looked over at the other man and allowed himself a small smile, “I will meet you there.”


	50. Let It Fall

"If celebrating means having you pay for everything, then we should celebrate more often," Alec replied with an easy smile as he rose and headed outside. "Should I lead the way? I'd hate for you to get lost since you so rarely visit," he teased as they walked out to where they had parked. Alec wanted to say something about having to ask for permission but once again decided it was too early for such a thing.

James just rolled his eyes again as he located his car and slid behind the wheel, knowing every time he answered it just spurred his friend on to further antics. He knew London like the back of his hand – it was the closest place he had to a home and had treated him relatively well as a young sailor. He felt affection for the hustle and bustle of the city around him. Shifting easily into gear, James slid out of the parking spot and allowed Alec to lead the way regardless, thinking on how badly he was going to want to take Q when this little jaunt was over.

Alec was used to James being a little less juvenile than he was, so he didn't mind it when his taunts went unanswered. He simply held up a hand as a brief goodbye before getting in his own car and heading to Stringfellows. On the way, the main thing that occupied his mind was how best to get his friend to reveal the truth; if he was being honest, Alec was a little offended James hadn't told him sooner. 

There was always the possibility that he was wrong, but Alec doubted that. Alec waited for James to arrive before they headed inside. He recognized a few of the waitstaff and he nodded in hello as they passed. He led them to a booth on the second floor with one of the better views and immediately ordered them both another drink.

James would admit the club was upscale, but it still reeked of rich old men cheating on their wives. It reminded him in a most unpleasant way of the community he’d resided in with Madeline – he was sure many of those husbands and fathers were out at a similar place tonight. With a deep breath, James pushed those thoughts to the back of his mind and focused on the present. A night out with a good friend, Q safe at home. Both good things.

"Why do you hate coming to places like this anyway? I mean, what's not to like? Top shelf alcohol and top shelf women - those are two of your favorite things," Alec commented after their drinks arrived and he'd had a few minutes to appreciate the change of scenery. James always did seem to prefer the chase - anything that came too easily wasn't worth his time.

“I enjoy a bit of class in my women,” James responded then, though he truly didn’t mean anything disparaging toward those who worked here. Whatever it took to pay the bills, James would never look down upon someone who got up every day and went to work. Glass in hand and Alec at his side, the drinking came easy although not rushed. He didn’t feel the need to get soul crushingly drunk, his depression well in hand since Q’s marvelous arrival back in his life. 

"By that you mean you enjoy difficult women," Alec replied, voicing his opinion concerning his friend's preferences. He heard stories about Vesper and Madeline and both of them were certainly not interested in James from the get go. Not like the women they came across out at bars or clubs, pretty women who approached James right away. They almost always got turned down, unless he was in a bad way.

That got a wry smile from James and he lifted his glass, toasting to the truth of that before downing a third of the glass. Whatever else he might say about Stringfellows, Alec was right – they served top shelf alcohol. “Dinner?” he asked then, unsure how much time Alec planned on spending here. But he was hungry and ready for something more substantial than appetizers at a local bar. 

"Absolutely," Alec agreed, planning on spending all the time it took to get the truth from James. They ordered their food, made idle conversation, and watched the women around them (Alec did, anyway) until their meal came and Alec felt a little more settled in. He nodded toward James' third glass of scotch and raised an eyebrow. "No vodka martinis for you tonight?"

James shrugged then, running his finger over the rim of his scotch glass – Q had bought him a bottle once, the first gift he’d ever received from the Quartermaster, and though he hadn’t realized it until just now, James hadn’t drank anything else since then while he was in London. “I’ve decided to separate work and pleasure,” he responded smoothly, taking another sip. 

That brought a sarcastic laugh out of Alec, and he gave his friend a knowing look over the edge of his own scotch glass. "Have you really?" he asked, not believing a word of it. Not with his suspicions that James was sleeping with their Quartermaster - that was hardly separating work and pleasure. "What makes a vodka martini your drink of choice on the job, then?"

“Habit,” he responded lightly, eyes lingering on the dark haired girl on the stage below them. She was almost boyish, certainly not the voluptuous type he preferred, with a short, messy mop of hair and a wicked glint in her eyes. She was dressed to her figure, at least for the time being, in the Roaring 20s flapper attire that had been so popular in America. At a distance James could have sworn he saw Q in her. Shaking his head abruptly, James pulled his eyes away and focused on Alec again – he wasn’t able to touch Q yet, not with that wound, and he didn’t see the benefit in getting himself excited over some nameless girl shimmying onstage. 

Alec turned and followed James' gaze. The girl on stage was one of the younger ones, pretty but not overly curvaceous. He knew James' preferences well, almost as well as he knew his own, and he wondered why he was so taken with her. Once James pulled himself away, Alec raised an eyebrow. "She your type now?" he teased. "So much for habits."

“Do you see me handing out pounds?” he retorted in kind, settling back into the booth to hinder any further viewing. “You brought me here,” he continued on then, reaching for another sip of his scotch, “why shouldn’t I enjoy all of it?” Dinner was enjoyable, the meal not the best he’d ever had but certainly not the worst either, and between the warm food in his stomach and the alcohol, James had grown rather content.

"I want you to enjoy all of it. But you hardly looked at the redhead on stage before this one and I'd have thought she was more to your liking. Given your habits and all," Alec said, teasing again. He wanted to bring up his theory but wasn't sure how else to broach the subject; now seemed to be as good a time as any given the topic of conversation. "Though there is one new habit of yours I'm trying to wrap my head around," he began carefully, lowering his voice as he continued. "Seems like you've been spending quite a bit of time with our Quartermaster."

“I work with him,” James responded blithely, not missing a beat even as the turn in conversation raised his hackles. Alec wasn’t the enemy – he had to remind himself of that forcefully. Alec was nosy, knew him well, and had just come back from a mission with the both of them. He was prying where he shouldn’t but James kept reminding himself over and over that he didn’t mean it to be malevolent, “As do you.”

"Yes, I do. And I don't usually see him out of work," Alec replied pointedly. He could tell that the conversation had put James on edge, which only convinced him further that he was right. James was a protective sort of man, and with his apparent lover injured he could see why that might extend to his best friend. "I've never known you to feel personally responsible for an asset like you did a few days ago."

“I’ve never been responsible for an asset integral to the structure of MI6,” James’s voice was tightly controlled, perfectly smooth and even regardless of the sound of his blood rushing in his ears. He didn’t want to have this conversation and resented Alec for turning them in this direction, “Perhaps he wouldn’t have gotten shot if you’d have felt more responsibility as well.” The moment the words left his mouth James winced internally, cursing himself – he wasn’t like that with Alec, purposefully cruel, and he knew it was just going to give the other man more fuel.

"Keeping him from getting shot wasn't my directive, was it?" Alec replied, doing his best to keep his voice light even as he knew he was doing the same thing as James. It was habit though, and he sighed. "Look, all I'm saying is that it seems that out of all of us, you're the one closest to him. I was just wondering why, that’s all."

Gritting his teeth, James forced himself to hold his tongue as his left cheek twitched in an unconscious tic. Alec was treading on damn thin ice. James already felt guilt beyond measure at Q’s injury, at his failure to protect him – he didn’t need to hear it from another smartass double oh. It was with great effort that he reined himself in, only speaking when he was certain he could do so politely, “Should I go, Alec?”

"What? No," Alec back peddled as quickly as he could without looking like an idiot - if his comment had upset James that much, he must really care about Q, he thought. "Look, I'm sorry. That was uncalled for." He apologized so rarely that he hoped it would help lower James' guard. Alec sighed and leaned back in the booth. "This wasn't the direction I wanted the conversation to go. Like I said, I was just wondering why you're so much closer to him than the rest of us. I mean, wasn't he the one who went to get you from Saudi Arabia? That's a little unusual."

James remained silent for a tense, long minute, his eyes locked on Alec as he thought through the million different things he could say. Lies and truths were both on the table as always, a myriad of options that he could pick and choose from depending on his desired outcome. Just as they were when he was on mission and working to wheedle important information from a target. That realization was what finally jolted James into speaking – what in the world had pushed him to treat his best friend like a mark? “I did not need to be gotten, I wasn’t a wayward agent,” he began, still a little cagey, “but yes, he did come to ask me back to MI6.”

Alec cracked a little smile, hoping that it would calm James further. "You were kind of a wayward agent," he teased, then paused before he spoke again. If he thought about it, he supposed it made sense for James to be so hesitant to speak about a relationship, considering how catastrophically things ended with Vesper. It had probably taken a long time for him to even admit his feelings to himself, let alone to be speaking about it in public. Still, Alec pressed on. "And you don't think I should find that unusual? Come on, James, I know I can act like a fool but I'm not actually stupid. I can put two and two together."

“And what have you put together?” he challenged, eyes steel as he fixated on Alec. It would be easier to just admit to Alec being right than have to actually say out loud that he was seeing Q romantically. They’d been hot and cold themselves and James could easily remember the chasm that had taken route in his chest all the times he thought it might be the end of him and Q – talking about something that was already so important to him, letting other people know… it only increased his risk if something ever did end poorly. 

Alec studied James carefully before he spoke again, knowing that the conversation would be cut off indefinitely if he spoke carelessly. Finally, he sighed and leaned back against the booth. "You and Q are together," he said simply, reaching out and taking another sip of his drink to seem nonchalant. Really, Alec thought, since when did he have to treat James like a cornered animal? Then again, he reminded himself, on top of all the shit James had gone through, he had to deal with Q being injured on top of it. And Alec knew all too well how much his friend blamed himself for anything that went wrong.


	51. Comfort In Camaraderie

There was one quiet beat that stretched between them before, finally, James nodded his agreement to Alec's statement. That was all felt he needed to say - there didn't need to be a grand proclamation or any specifics provided, not of his own volition anyway. As he raised his glass to his mouth and took another sip, James didn't realize how nervous he actually was at the admittance until he drank down half of the remaining liquid. Biting the inside of his lip against the burn in his throat, James sat quietly and waited for a response from 006.

"Bloody hell, James, is it that hard to admit the truth to your best friend?" Alec asked with a sigh of relief. At least James hadn't tried to change the subject or gotten gruff about it. He had to wonder at what the real reason for his friend's insecurity was. It couldn't be that the relationship was too new for him to be comfortable acknowledging; otherwise Q wouldn't have gone after him in Saudi Arabia in the first place. He would figure it out sooner or later, he thought, letting James reply.

James huffed out a half laugh at that, going with the easy answer, "Interoffice romances are looked down upon in our line of work." Turning his attention back to his dinner, James took another bite of his steak and let the meat melt on his tongue. He wasn't sure how far Alec planned on probing and he wasn't ready to give anything he wasn't specifically asked for, so he kept his answers to a minimum.

Alec gave him a sour look and drained the rest of his glass. "I didn't ask why you haven't told M. I asked why you haven't told me. You think I give a damn about interoffice romances?” He scoffed as he spoke, pausing only to call the waitress over for another drink before his full attention was on James again. "You know me better than that. There's some other reason why you didn't tell me. So tell me now."

“Demanding, aren’t you?” Careful as always, James still held Alec at arm’s length, only willing to answer certain questions and only when he was specifically asked them, “I did tell you.” Finishing his meal, James let his gaze wander, skipping over the stage to watch the men surrounding it, desperate and lonely and needy. He wondered on that – there were times he was certain he was that kind of man too, even if it was about something other than a woman. This conversation had the potential to hit too close to home in that regard and it made him recalcitrant. 

"No, you didn't tell me. I guessed and you nodded. It's hardly the same thing." Alec waited for James to reply, and when he got nothing, he sighed again and leaned in closer. "So tell me how it happened. How long have you been together? And if you won't tell me, at least explain why you're so hesitant. Christ, James, I can tell you've been happier and I don't even see you that often. What's so bad about it that you can't tell me?"

That was the crux of it - Alec had hit it on the head and was probably too thick to even realize it. He was happy. Full stop. Not “happy taking the situation into consideration” or “happy even though it was hard,” he was just happy. That was such a rare feeling for him and the thought of losing it again, of facing Vesper's ghost in Q, terrified him beyond all belief. He desperately tried to avoid thinking about it. "I don't know how it happened," he finally answered as he shook himself out of the stupor of his thoughts, still careful with the words he chose, "the flirting went farther than I expected." With a light shrug, James left it at that. There was nothing bad about his relationship but there was so much to be worried about.

"Oh come on," Alec complained, trying not to take the response as a personal affront. "Do you think telling me the details is going to change something about your relationship? I'm your best friend, aren't I? Don't people usually like sharing their happiness with their friends?" As before, Alec had to wonder what was at the root of his hesitance. James didn't always talk a lot but he was usually more forthright when it was the two of them talking between missions. It had to be something to do with Vesper, but for the life of him Alec couldn't decide why talking about his relationship with Q would spook James so much.

At that James sighed – dog with a bone. It was still true. “You could not change my relationship,” he scoffed, though there was no heat to the words. He was affectionate in his own ways with Alec and teasing would always be the most prominent of those. But finally he opened up, at least a little further, and elaborated, “I flirted because I enjoyed the embarrassed, overwrought reactions it got from him. When he started to grow accustom, I took things further to keep turning him red. It ended in a rather aggressive encounter in his office – I grew impatient.”

Relieved that James had decided to open up without further prompting, Alec leaned back in his seat and chuckled at the mental image. "Too bad he's spoken for. I'd like to see our Quartermaster get flustered; he's too damn unflappable for someone his age." Reaching for his new drink, Alec took a sip and let the alcohol sit on his tongue for a moment, enjoying it more now that they were having an actual conversation. "So what, you kissed him? Right there in the middle of Q Division?"

James gave Alec a look of mock affront, as though offended he even had to ask, “Of course I did.” Alec knew better than anyone that James never backed down from a challenge, even if said challenge was something as stupid as taking a shot with a scorpion balanced on his hand. Though the initial urge to warn Alec away from even thinking about Q was there James avoided it, knowing that his best friend would never actually try to encroach on something that important to James. 

Alec rolled his eyes. "Fine, what I should have asked was did he let you do it? He seems a little too rigid to go kissing agents in the middle of his division, middle of the night or no." He glanced pointedly up to the corner of the ceiling where a security camera sat. "Especially considering there are eyes everywhere." Something occurred to him then, and it made Alec grin mischievously. "Unless that's something he's into? I already know you're a damn exhibitionist."

That got another snort from James and a quick shake of his head in response to Alec’s last statement. Picking up the menu, James perused the desserts available for a moment before speaking again, “I didn’t give him the chance to stop me.” When he thought back on it, James couldn’t help the smile that touched his lips – Q had looked so defiant, so certain that James wouldn’t follow through, that when James moved quick as lightning and pulled Q tight into his arms to kiss him breathless under the bright lights and watching cameras, he’d actually managed to pull a literal squeak of surprise from his Quartermaster. It was one of his favorite memories.

"And how did he like that? Somehow I can't imagine him swooning the way one of your honeypot women might," Alec replied, wiggling his eyebrows teasingly. He interacted with Q on a fairly regular basis, but it was always business. The younger man seemed to overcompensate in his professionalism at times, probably due to the fact that he was young enough to be a child of most of the agents he was in charge of. Alec never stopped to wonder what the Quartermaster was like outside of that; he took his position so seriously Alec honestly never even though there was anything else to the man. It was absurd, of course, no man was only his job - as much as the agents liked to think they were, he knew all too well - and hearing about this other side of Q was interesting to say the least.

At that James laughed, warm and open. “A gentleman doesn’t kiss and tell, Alec,” he warned, mock sternness in his voice, “not that you would know.” James was pretty certain it was clear he liked it well enough – they were together now after all, weren’t they? He was growing more comfortable with the conversation, though he still carefully monitored what he said. He and Q were both men that valued their privacy and while he would share innocent, innocuous details with Alec he certainly wasn’t ready to get into any serious topics. 

"You're the biggest womanizer in Europe, James, that hardly makes you a gentleman," Alec scoffed, though he was smiling too. He could tell James was relaxing more now that they were past his initial hesitation, and Alec finally let himself relax as well. "How long has this been going on for?" They would get to serious matters eventually, when it made sense. For now, Alec was happy to keep the conversation light; any information was new to him so he'd take whatever James was willing to share.

At Alec’s first comment James grinned, baring his teeth, “So you finally admit I’m the better man?” They’d had a playful ongoing rivalry pretty much since they had met regarding which of them was the most desirable to women and in James’s book, Alec’s comment that he was the biggest womanizer in Europe sounded like an admittance of victory. At the second question James paused, turning the myriad of answers over and over in his head before finally responding, “It started a few months after… Skyfall.” Though he avoided showing it outwardly, even the mention of the place still brought guilt and remorse flooding back to him.

Alec rolled his eyes. "No, James, that was purely hyperbolic," he scoffed in reply. Part of him wanted to brag that the one mission they were on together, the woman who had been their mark had chosen him over James, but that would be changing the subject he worked so hard to get started. Alec's expression became solemn when James mentioned Skyfall, knowing that he was referring to M. He was hurt by her death as well, having also been somewhat close to her - though James was easily her favorite. "Well... he held out longer than most people, then," Alec commented after a few moments, trying to lighten the mood again

That got a quiet chuckle out of James, though even he couldn’t decide if it was in amusement or sorrow, “Yes, he has.” At that James fell somewhat melancholy, though again he was careful to keep it from showing. He had only had a chance with Q because things with Vesper had ended so quickly and so terribly, had pushed so hard for his attentions partially to avoid the guilt of M’s death that having time to think gave him. When he really let his mind go, James had to admit to himself that he wasn’t suitable for Q – the man deserved much better. 

Alec could tell that bringing up Skyfall was still weighing on James, and he thought about a subject that would be lighter fare to take his mind off it. "I have a hard time imagining Q being anything less than the stuck up, posh little thing he is at work. Don't tell me he's always like that," Alec flashed a playful grin, edging on lascivious. Usually James didn't have a problem talking about his sex life, and that was certain to be easier to think about than Skyfall.

With some effort, James pulled his mind away from the destruction of his past to focus on Alec again, trying his best to allow the other man to succeed in his goal of steering the conversation in a better direction. “Do you spend a lot of time wondering what our Quartermaster is like in bed, Alec?” James questioned, his smirk matching Alec’s as he teased. Though Alec was his best friend and he trusted him with his life, James wasn’t willing to go too in depth when it came to their private lives – that was between them, after all.

Alec shrugged and leaned back in the booth again, grateful that the change in direction seemed to be working. "Not in bed, exactly. Just in general. I have a hard time imagining him doing anything but tinkering and reminding us not to break his tech. So tell me what he's like when he's not being Q," Alec insisted, giving James the opportunity to give him details without getting too personal. Though James made innuendo and alluded to his sex life, Alec knew he was a private person and he knew better than to ask for any more intimate details.

“He’s always Q,” James corrected. That was one of the things he loved about the other man – even in the throes of passion, writhing under James and begging desperately for release he somehow still managed to hold on to the character that made him, well, him. “He’s always self-assured, usually bossy,” James continued on then, the smile on his face small but genuine; he was happy, thinking about Q, “and he tinkers in his office at home.”

Alec snorted in amusement. "Of course he does," he agreed, though he could see how genuinely happy talking about Q made James and it made Alec happy too. The other man had been carrying around too much unpleasantness; it was good for him to have something to help lighten the load. "Isn't he a bit young to be so bossy? Or is he just one of those people who doesn't age and he's really 70? It would explain his clothing choices, at least."

That got a true laugh from James, the sound rich and unencumbered, “I’ve made that exact suggestion to him directly. He is certain his fashion is of the most modern tastes and takes offense to the suggestion, as he puts it, that I seem to believe he is made from wax.” Fact of the matter was, James enjoyed how bossy Q was, especially when he was working. Perhaps that was because he primarily enjoyed dismantling him until he was so unwound he couldn’t conjure the words to be bossy any longer and had to communicate with desperate gasps and the demanding press of his heels into James’s back, but who was counting, really?

"Modern? That jumper he had on two weeks ago, as soon as I walked in and saw him I swore I was looking at my grandfather. He died when I was 12," Alec laughed along with James as he spoke. Even without going too into detail, Alec still felt like he was getting some sense of what Q was really like; he couldn't help but feel that at work the younger man was heavily overcompensating and had wondered more than once if it was an act or if he really was just that uptight. "So if he really is that young, what do the two of you even talk about? It can't be work all the time."

“It’s not,” James conceded, suddenly realizing he needed to get their waitress’s attention as the drink in his hand had run dry, “I like to listen to him tell me about his pet projects, about his history, his normal life.” It was a simple statement, that last, but it spoke volumes beyond the actual words. James’s life, from the time he was twelve, had been anything but normal. Nobody wound up as a double oh with two perfect, loving parents and a steady home life. People like that could wind up as Quartermasters, he learned, but not double ohs. 

"Normal life? I didn't think anyone who worked for MI6 had one of those," Alec quipped, then flagged down their waitress as he realized his glass was empty too. He winked at her as she took their glasses, leaning out of the booth just a little bit as he watched her walk away - Alec was too wrapped up in his conversation with James to really be thinking about trying to take her home, but he couldn't stop his natural flirtatious nature. Turning back to James, he propped his elbow on the table and rested his chin in his hand. "So what's a normal life like for a Quartermaster like him? He was probably born and raised in the Oxford library or something."

At that James smiled, a little half quirk of his lips that led some mystery to his words, “Something like that.” Q’s history was his own and James was lucky enough to have gained access – he wasn’t going to start sharing it with Q’s coworkers freely. It was a symbol of trust to be let into someone’s past and if Alec really wanted to know he could make the effort with Q himself. The hustle and bustle of scantily clad and fully nude women around them was a background buzz to James, white noise against the conversation and the vivid memories of what Q looked like in a similar state of undress. Damn him to hell, but somehow Q had managed to turn him on to this personal monogamy thing. 

Alec huffed at the lack of information from James. "Come on then, James. What can you tell me about him? There has to be something more." What held his curiosity now was the differences between his best friend and their Quartermaster; what even made them compatible? At his best guess, Q was probably about 15 years younger than James, and nothing at all like the normal people he went for. He was the completely wrong gender, for one thing. Alec was at a loss for how to mention that without sounding like an ass, especially considering how hesitant James had been to share even the littlest details.

“If you want to know about Q, you should ask him,” James countered, smiling indulgently up at the young waitress as she delivered their drinks. He waited for her to scurry off before continuing, happy at the smooth slide of scotch warming his throat again, “I do not make it a habit of sharing your personal details with others.” They both understood that information, more than any weapon or any agent, was where true power lay and James was careful never to treat casually with private information that had been entrusted to him. 

"Right. I'm sure he'd tell me. Look, I'm not looking for dirt, I just want to know more about the man who's making my best friend so happy," Alec entreated, curious as always - dog with a bone, as James would say. "Christ, that's a strange thing to say. I'm glad you're happy, James, but I didn't think Q of all people would be your type. I'd say this was your version of a mid-life crisis, but you're about 10 years beyond a mid-life crisis so that'd just be inaccurate." Alec grinned, never one to pass up an opportunity to give James a hard time about being older, even if it was by less than a year.

The look James shot Alec across the rim of his scotch glass said it all, though he followed it up with a few choice words just for certainty, “Good to know you consider yourself old, Alec. Maybe it’s time to hang up the holster and retire. Should I find you a good nursing home?” Taking a deep breath, James let his mind skip along the question until he landed on what Alec was actually asking, “You’re surprised it’s a man.” 

"I'll go when you do, old man," Alec promised with a wink, cocking his glass up at James in a mock toast before he took a drink. James' next comment made him pause, though, and he savored the scotch for a moment while he thought. "I suppose I am. I know we both sleep with men in the field, but you've never shown much interest in them outside of a mission before. I'd make a comment about him being young enough to be your son, but that's not really surprising at all." Alec smirked, taking the opportunity to joke about James' age again

Rolling his eyes, James otherwise ignored Alec’s attempts at being pithy and though about all the things Alec said. He was right, of course, James’s history very clear pointed toward certain preferences and predilections that Q did not fit at all. “It surprised me too,” he answered honestly, shrugging. The booth surrounding him was plush, comfortable and welcoming, and the alcohol in his system made him more amenable than usual when it came to discussing his personal life. 

Alec was relieved that his idea had worked; James was always a little more talkative with   
drink in him. He hummed thoughtfully around his glass, thinking for a moment before speaking again. "Doesn't surprise me about him, though. He seems the type." He paused for a moment before grinning again. "Though with how much he scolds you, I wouldn't have thought you were his type either. I suppose you could be into that sort of thing though."

As Alec’s world filtered through his consciousness, James barked out a laugh, “You know damn well I’m not.” While he enjoyed the occasional bossy woman in the bedroom, at the end of the night things still always ended with her pinned underneath him and filled with his cock. Though he certainly gave Q more leeway, actually had come to enjoy the times their usual roles were reversed, he was certainly not someone who enjoyed being castigated in the bedroom. 

"Well, I wouldn't know personally, would I? And you're not exactly forthright when it comes to your experiences," Alec commented with a cheeky grin and a raise of his eyebrows. "Maybe that's the allure, hmm? Someone who isn't afraid to boss you around like you deserve." He laughed at the absurdity of his own comments, having to put his glass down to keep from choking on the scotch in his amusement.

James raised an eyebrow at that, eyes glittering with quiet mirth, “If I deserve to be bossed around, you must deserve to be punished.” Truth be told, while James was certainly one to go his own way if he felt it necessary, Alec was just as insouciant. While he may have passed a few nights with Q in which the younger man got to call the shots and be a little demanding, Q wasn’t that enamored with the idea of actually dominating James, in contrast to just topping him. The other way around suited them both just fine most of the time.

"What's wrong with the occasional dominatrix or two, hmm?" Alec asked, then laughed again. He, like James, preferred to be in control. It was hard to find an agent, male or female, that was willing to submit. Still, it was fun to joke about, especially the mental image he had of their young, willowy Quartermaster being the person who got James Bond into that role.

The move indulgent, James shook his head. He had known Alec for so long and their banter – like that he had with Q – was one of the few things that truly made him feel content. “Whatever floats your boat, you deviant,” he grinned up at his best friend, taking another sip of his drink. “Either ask direct questions or change the topic, Alec.”

Alec flicked a balled up straw wrapper at James petulantly. "If I'm a deviant, you're doubly so," came his retort as he drained the glass and set it down a little harder than was necessary. He raised his eyebrows in response to the rest of James' words, grinning a little. "Oh, am I allowed to ask direct questions now? I always thought you don't kiss and tell." In truth, Alec was content with not knowing the details of James' sex life; not that he would balk if his friend wanted to share, but that was a line they never really crossed. "Fine, then. What do you two do together on your days off? Other than the obvious, of course."

Alec’s train of thought was so predictable. Blowing out a snort of air, James shook his head and smiled, “Indulge one another. I like to watch him in his office, working on his projects. We watch the occasional movie, though sitting through his selections isn’t always the… easiest.” Q had very elegant tastes for the most part, which made it all the more shocking to James when he realized his Quartermaster had a soft spot for romantic dramas. “I cook for him, make him tea, and he…” James took a breath then, almost surprised at how easy the next words came to his lips. It felt contrary to his very nature to think them, much less speak them, but they were the truth, weren’t they? “… He takes care of me.”

"Can you even call what he watches movies? They're probably all documentaries, aren't they? History or something." Alec was still smiling as he spoke, trying to imagine what else the Quartermaster might enjoy. He knew that Q had a sarcastic sense of humor - but a sense of humor, no less. He was usually quite dry in his interactions and it had taken Alec some time to discern when the younger man was joking and when he was being serious. That said, Alec went with what he knew of Q and assumed his tastes were as uptight as he could be. "So that's it? You watch each other work? The sex must be really great."

The look James sent Alec’s way at that comment was cutting. There was so much to say that just couldn’t be put into words. They didn’t have to do things together. Just being in the same damn room as Q made his breath come easier. The brush of Q’s ankle against James’ calves as they lay tangled on the couch – James reading a book and Q playing with his laptop – was enough to soothe his constantly wary nerves. The sound of Q’s voice after a mission gone bad, the way he was always careful to talk about something simple and unrelated as he held James in his arms and let him battle away the demons in his own way was probably the only reason James could still be considered partially sane. It was impossible to condense that down into something he was both comfortable saying aloud and something Alec would understand. “This is why you can’t keep a steady relationship,” he shot back, though his tone was warm, “and no, that’s not it.”

Alec was taken aback at the sudden cutting look James gave him and he worried for a moment that he'd accidentally trivialized their relationship with his joking. Honestly, he could tell that James was happy and that meant a great deal to him. And he knew James was the type of man who got bored with routine, so clearly Q was well matched for him if they were still together after so long. However, James' expression softened and Alec relaxed again. "That's not at all why I can't keep a steady relationship. Women like Natalie are the reason I can't keep a steady relationship," he replied, trying not to sound as bitter as he felt. Alec shook his head then, not wanting to bring her up. "What else then? Was I right about his taste in films?"

The reminder hit James rather harder than he expected it to – though she hadn’t gone the betrayal and death route like Vesper had, Natalie had still thoroughly had her way with Alec and left him fucked up at the end of it. There was more the two of them had in common that either one was comfortable discussing. “No, though I wish you had been,” James responded wryly, letting Alec’s first comment slide by without remark, “they would be easier to watch.” 

Alec snorted again, tipping one of the ice cubes from his glass back into his mouth and sucking the taste of the scotch out of it before he spoke again. The distraction served its purpose, and thoughts of Natalie mostly faded away as he focused on their conversation again. "Nothing's easier to watch than that. What is it then? Is he into those superhero films? Some of those aren't awful."

A smile cracked James’s lips as he shook his head, enjoying the idea of forcing Alec to keep guessing until he either got it right or gave up entirely. They had always played little games together like that, pushing and prodding and demanding more from one another, teasing in their own way. 

Alec narrowed his eyes for a moment as he thought, less trying to determine what made sense for Q to enjoy and more trying to decide which kinds of films James would think were worse than the documentaries he'd mentioned before. "It's not those stupid, predictable comedies Ivelisse likes, is it?" Alec had an on-again off-again thing with 004. They both hesitated to call it a relationship and when they were off it was less due to friction between them and more due to the fact that they were both edging too closely into the territory they were trying to avoid. James knew that, as did most people at MI6. It was one of the agency's worse-kept secrets, but since it wasn't actually anything serious there was no one to interfere.

That drew another chuckle from James, “No.” In all actuality, it was 006s unauthorized semi-relationship with 004 that gave him any hope at all that he and Q may be able to survive broaching the truth about themselves to M. James had put it off, never felt the need, but with Alec pinning him down to an admittance of the truth it was only a matter of time before someone else realized it somehow. The news would be better coming directly from them. If Mallory heard it through the rumor mill his head would spin so fast it would probably pop right off his shoulders. 

Alec groaned at the thought of the last movie Ivelisse had forced him to sit through. "She spends most of the time making fun of the characters or tearing the writing apart. I don't know why she bothers, they're all the same," Alec muttered, then trailed off into further thought. "Those sappy romance films? You've always turned your nose up at those."

As James’s answering groan filled the air around them it was more than enough to cement Alec’s guess as the correct one. James couldn’t remember number of times he’d caught Q with tears shining in his eyes over some overblown, tragic scene. Though he’d only let them fall once, his eyes were always so expressive that James could tell when his they were on the verge of doing so just through the reflection of the television screen. “And he enjoys foreign language versions, as well,” not that it was any kind of language barrier for the two of them, but damn if the French didn’t make the most overdramatic movies in the world. 

"Seriously? He always seems to be so emotionally unaffected. Why bother with other people's drama anyway?" Alec asked, his thoughts an echo of the same questions he'd asked Ivelisse on the occasion that one of those movies sparked her interest. Alec could tell why James thought they were so insufferable - romantic movies of any kind were just as predictable as anything else. But the two of them knew better than to buy the lie that love conquered all.

Shrugging, James shook his head. He had just as much of an idea as Alec, which was none at all really. “Anything else,” he asked then, his attention briefly snagged by the newest woman on stage. Tall, curvaceous, dark, and dressed in an evening gown she fit Alec’s type to a T and had just started the process of removing her gloves, “or should I leave you to lust in peace?”


	52. Consequential

Alec was immediately distracted by the woman on stage. He'd been watching out of the corner of his eye as his conversation wore on, but so far none of the women were as interesting. However, as their conversation lulled somewhat, he allowed himself to be distracted. "Just give me a moment, would you? We don't all have someone to go home to," Alec replied, shooting his friend a little grin before letting his attention turn fully to the stage. "Tell me, James, you have to at least appreciate such a good looking woman."

“You know I appreciate attractive women, Alec,” James reminded him. While this thing with Q felt right – was right – it didn’t erase the fact that in general James’s tastes ran decidedly toward the feminine end of the spectrum. He had a general idea that was one of the reasons he loved Q’s longer hair so much – having something to tangle his fingers in, to pull on, always sent his arousal sparking higher. He followed up his previous comment with another playful jab, “And don’t expect me to believe you’ll be going home alone tonight.”

Alec snorted, replying without looking away from the stage. "Then why do you protest coming here so much when you get to look at beauty like that?" Regardless of his interest in the woman on stage, Alec did have plans for the rest of the night once James went back to his flat. He hesitated for a moment before he voiced them aloud, eyes flickering back over to his friend. He hadn't been entirely sure what James would think of his psuedo-fling with Ivelisse, though now he was fairly certain he wouldn't give a damn. "Well, technically that's the plan. I won't be alone once I get there, though."

At that James cocked an eyebrow, suddenly extremely interested. “Someone you trust enough to allow in your flat alone?” he questioned, the incredulity clear in his voice. That was tantamount to blasphemy in their world; basically asking to get brutally murdered the moment your guard was down and they knew your hidden weapons were out of reach. “Ivelisse?” he guessed then. It had to be, if there was anyone else even remotely close to being granted that privilege, James would know.

Alec made a face; he didn't know why he was so hesitant to mention her again. Probably for similar reasons to James' hesitance in discussing Q. They'd been getting closer lately, and it was starting to make him worry. Not enough to stop seeing her, though. "I'd trust you enough to leave you in my flat alone. Why wouldn't I trust her too?" he asked, trying to sound nonchalant about it.

“She’s not me,” James shot back without heat, though the words were still true. They had been friends for over a decade, they would die for one another as easily as they breathed, and trust couldn’t begin to accurately explain the unwavering faith they had in one another. “And you think Q’s bossy?” in all the time he’d know Ivelisse – her entire run as 004 – James had never known her to be anything but demanding with everyone she came into contact with.

"No," Alec agreed, not about to deny that he trusted James to have his back as easily as he trusted his own shadow. Still, Ivelisse had proven herself. He chuckled, then, when James brought up her tendency to want to be in control. "She's much more relaxed outside of a mission. You saw her on the ride to the airport and on the plane." He didn't know why he felt the need to defend her, but Alec didn't allow himself the time to really think critically about it just yet, turning his head to watch the finale of the woman on stage.

“People are different outside of work,” he quipped, his voice taking on a sardonic edge, “who would have thought?” Though he would freely admit she was in good shape, the woman on stage was Alec’s type and not particularly his. He fell silent, letting his friend enjoy the show, and finished off his… well, he wasn’t sure how many glasses of scotch it had been, but he finished it nonetheless.

Alec laughed at the irony and shook his head. "Fuck off, would you? You're distracting me," he replied warmly, sighing in satisfaction as he watched the woman exit the stage blowing kisses as she did. "Christ, we need more women like her in the world," he commented as he sat back in the booth. Having accomplished what he'd hoped to already, Alec wasn't sure where to go from here. He wanted the topic to stay far away from him and Ivelisse since his own thoughts were growing uncomfortable, let alone the types of questions James might ask.

Alec wasn’t the only one who could be reminiscent of a dog with a bone when he set his mind to it, “Does she wait for you at your flat often?” After all the poking and prodding Alec had done in regards to Q, James felt more than justified doing the same. If Alec was seeing someone more than once, he should know about it.

Of course James was going to ask - and after all the questions he'd put his friend through, Alec figured he deserved it. Sighing, he shrugged, still trying to play it off. "No. She's leaving tomorrow so I thought I'd give her a nice send off. But I didn't want to interrupt this. So it made sense."

The huff of a laugh burbled in James’s chest and escaped as a puff of air through his nose, “So you’re giving yourself to her as a gift? Does she enjoy being as full of you as you do?” The question was an obvious tease – Alec had self-confidence to spare, used it the same way James did, to mask the fucked up lives they led. It was a coping mechanism that worked well for both of them until the moment it didn’t. But that didn’t change the fact that Alec was, also, just so incredibly pleased with his own existence. Sometimes it was good to remind him of that fact. 

"She enjoys being full of me more than she'd enjoy being full of you, James," Alec retorted with a huff, though he was clearly just playing at being offended. He knew his own vices and didn't care to let them bother him. It was easier to own his lesser qualities than to let himself be owned by them, anyway. "Don't tell me you don't give Q the same kind of goodbye before you leave on mission." Alec blanched at having compared what he and Ivelisse were to what James and Q were, but he kept his expression neutral nonetheless.

“I won’t lie to you, Alec,” he said by way of tacit agreement, though the smirk quirking his lips said that he had different thoughts regarding Ivelisse’s preferences. He was astute, observational like always, and he could see the way talking about her seemed to fray Alec at the edges, “What is she to you?” Though he still had trouble putting an actual name to his relationship with Q – boyfriend was too juvenile, partner too sterile, lover too cliché – he was still curious to see what Alec would have to say.

Alec pursed his lips and looked away, back down at the stage where a pair a redheads were tantalizing the crowd. He wished it was as easy to get lost in them as it had been before. He would always enjoy coming here, but Alec's thoughts were starting to lean more toward one woman than he was entirely comfortable with. The answer was the easiest thing, the answer that would require the least amount of thought. "My partner. Moreso than you, now that they seem to prefer having you work alone. Sometimes we fuck. Doesn't mean she's anything else."

“She’s in your flat, in your home, alone. She watches movies with you,” as he spoke, James’s tone was light but firm, “and you know what she’s like outside of work.” The hint of a scolding rolled off his tongue then, making it clear he didn’t appreciate Alec’s evasions after having exposed so much of himself to the other man, “And we’re not police. I didn’t ask your working relationship.”

Feeling a little guilty for evading James' questions, Alec nonetheless sighed and pulled back, leaning against the booth and staring up at the ceiling. "I don't know, James. We haven't gotten things sorted out like you and Q. It isn't like that between us." He shrugged again, looking back at his friend. "We get on well. I trust her. Friends with benefits, I suppose?"

That James accepted gracefully, with a nod and a knowing smile. He’d had the beginnings of something similar with Moneypenny, before she’d shot him and sent him tumbling off a rail bridge and into the frigid depths of the river below. But one end is just the start of a new beginning and it had led him to Q. That he was more than satisfied with. “Do you want things to sort out like me and Q?” he probed further, voice gentling. It was a loaded question and James knew it wouldn’t be easy to answer. 

Alec scrubbed at his face with his hands before he sighed. "Did you want things to get sorted out with him when you first started?" he asked instead. He wasn't looking to be difficult this time; this time he was more or less looking for advice. He knew what James had gone through with Vesper, that he was reeling from her loss the same way Alec was from Natalie. The thought that he could never trust anyone like that again had crossed his mind more than once, as he knew it had James'. And yet, his friend had found himself capable of loving someone else again, of being happy. Alec wasn't sure Ivelisse would be that person for him, but it certainly seemed to be going in that direction regardless of how much they both fought it.

The question brought James pause. He turned it over in his mind, considering all the answers, comparing the easy, short half-truths against the long, twisting and intricate whole. Alec deserved more than those half-truths, but James wasn’t completely sure how to explain the whole of it. He tried his best, “No. I… told myself no, at any rate. It was… stupid. Dangerous.” James knew that Alec would understand – he was talking about Vesper and doing his damndest to avoid actually using her name. 

“He’s Q, for Christ sakes. Asking for fucking trouble.” Shaking his head, James reflected briefly on just how self-destructive he was willing to be in his hunt for blissful oblivion; early on, chasing Q had been a distraction, one that could have gotten him pulled up in front of a tribunal for sexual harassment or some other such charge. “I was certain that it was just fun. Fun for me, a target that pushed back hard enough to make it interesting,” his voice grew quieter then, introspection rare for James but making itself known now, “I had the feeling it was more than that early on but I refused to acknowledge it. I’m lucky I didn’t fuck up our working relationship, luckier still that I actually got what I didn’t even want to admit I was after.”

Alec had been fairly certain that was the case before James even said a word. The relationships they both experienced were similar enough to give him some idea of what his friend had felt, especially since Alec found himself in a similar situation. It was easier to deny what was growing between himself and Ivelisse than to risk their working relationship and their friendship on trying to make something more out of it. Ivelisse was younger than both he and James, but no less experienced in loss. She had fully committed to MI6 after her young family was killed by terrorists, and prior to that she'd lived with her alcoholic mother and had no father to speak of. They were both a wreck for their own reasons and Alec felt they had more to lose than to gain.

However, seeing James so content with his relationship and so obviously committed did give him some hope. He nodded appreciatively at James' answer, tracing the ring of condensation his glass had left on the table. "I don't know if it's worth risking a perfectly good partner to try something like this. Doesn't seem like there's much to gain, really." There was some hypocrisy in saying that, of course, considering Alec had been in a serious relationship in the past and so knew exactly what there was to gain. But things had ended so badly between him and Natalie that the good memories of the relationship had been embittered.

Though James knew there was so much to be gained he also knew that in truth, Alec was aware of that. He didn’t need a pep talk, didn’t need a pick me up. The reality of their lives made interpersonal relationships hard and involving oneself in them was harder still. “It’s a choice you have to make,” as he met Alec’s eyes, James sighed and shook his head, “but make sure you’re not trying to making the choice for both of you. I tried that with Q, it didn’t work.”

"Trouble in paradise?" Alec asked, his tone light still, though in truth he wanted to know more. Natalie was outside MI6 and he hadn't had a serious relationship with a coworker since he became an agent. Not counting his friendship with James, of course. There was only so much James could tell him, that he knew; Q and Ivelisse were completely different people. But still, it helped him to know what his friend had gone through; maybe he could avoid making the same mistakes. "Hard to know for sure what I want. Things between us right now are great; I don't want to muck that up."

At that James nodded, understanding the sentiment completely. “I know.” As the waitress came by to see if they needed anything else, James politely asked for the check. There was nothing further to be gained from having this particular conversation in a strip club, as far as he was concerned. As the waitress left, James looked to Alec with a small smile, “Why don’t we finish this conversation somewhere quieter?”

The night ended not long after, both men eager to get home to the people they had waiting for them. Q didn't bother going to bed right away; he'd slept part of the day already, having accidentally taken more of a nap than he meant to. It wasn't difficult to wait up for James. Upon hearing the lock in the door, he set his laptop down and sat up straighter on the couch. Q knew better than to stand and greet James at the door, not wanting to be scolded for straining himself. "Welcome home," he greeted with a little smile once James was inside. "Did you enjoy yourself?"


	53. From Here

The sight of Q – brilliant, handsome, irreplaceable Q – waiting for him to come home, eager for him to come home, lit a fire in James that kept him going even through the roughest missions. He knew if he just made it through, he would be able to come back to this same unforgettable man and somehow, though James had no idea why, he would still be waiting. “It wasn’t a bad night,” he responded, hanging his coat in the entry closet and carefully untying his shoes as he gently scolded, “but you should be asleep.”

Q smiled at the predictable admonishment and fought his urge to go pull James to him. "I took a long nap during the day and a shorter one after dinner. I'm quite rested," he replied in an attempt to reassure James that he'd kept his promise to take care of himself. "Tell me what trouble you got in," he continued, holding a hand out to beckon James closer.

Not needing to be asked twice, James quietly made his way over to Q, sock feet silent on the hardwood floor. Sliding onto the couch beside Q, James carefully pulled him into his arms, mindful of his wound as he situated the two of them comfortably, Q’s head pillowed on his chest. “I’m the good boy,” he responded, the teasing tone in his voice clear, “it’s Alec you should be asking that question to.”

Q relaxed against James' chest, more comfortable now that he was home. The day apart did him some good; he didn't feel quite so stifled by James' worrying and was able to enjoy his presence rather than be annoyed by it. "Is that so? You two went to the premier strip club in the United Kingdom and didn't get into any trouble?" He reached up and rested the backs of his fingers against James' forehead. "Are you feeling well?"

With a chuckle, James caught Q’s wrist and turned it in his hand, pressing his lips to the tender skin stretched thin and pale over Q’s pulse point. “I’m fine,” he commented softly, his lips feather light over Q’s wrist as he spoke, “we spent most of the evening having a serious conversation.” When he finally released Q’s wrist it was only to settle both his arms around Q’s waist again, holding him protectively. 

Q let James shift without resistance, doing nothing to move his hand away. He pressed a kiss to the base of James' throat. "A serious conversation? At a strip club?" he asked, somewhat incredulous. "What kind of serious conversation was it? Whether or not you prefer brunettes or redheads?"

James laughed and swatted gently at Q’s hip, “You’re lucky I can’t get to your bottom right now.” For reasons perhaps best not thought on, James enjoyed turning Q over his knee when the young man was being impudent. But injured as he was, James wouldn’t take any risks. The whole ride home he’d ruminated over the conversation and eventually came to admit what it meant – if Alec knew, that meant it was only a matter of time before others realized it as well. They had to get ahead of the rumor mill. He just wanted to enjoy a few more moments of easy conversation before they got there.

"Or unlucky. It all depends on your perspective," Q shot back, wiggling his hips playfully, though he was careful not to pull his stitches. He propped himself up then so he could meet James' gaze. "Tell me what you talked about. I'm curious about what serious conversations it's possible to have at a strip club, seeing as how I've never been to one to know."

The affection in James’s eyes modulated briefly, flashing desire for a moment at the purposeful movement of Q’s hips before sinking back into something gentler. Surprising as it may have been, he wasn’t particularly in the mood tonight. He wanted to hold Q near, keep him safe, and just know that they had each other and didn’t need too much more, “… It was about us. You and me.”

He moved in time to see the desire in James' eyes, and the expression echoed in his own for a moment. It hadn't been very long but Q still missed the intimacy; James was being far too careful with him for his taste. He understood why, but it was still a source of frustration at times. When his expression gentled, and he spoke again, all thoughts of sex left his mind. "Was it? I take it he figured it out too, then?"

“Too?” James’ voice ticked up on the word, clearly surprised and concerned with the modifier. “Who else?” he probed further, worry starting to diffuse through his posture. Who the hell else was close enough to them to realize it without James knowing? His arms tensed around Q then, the movement unconscious as James’s fight or flight mode started to kick in.

Q pressed his lips to James' jaw, his hands resting on his shoulders soothingly. "It's all right, James. It's just Moneypenny. She came by earlier to make sure I'd eaten. It came out then." Q was worried, suddenly, that James would be upset at her knowing. The two of them had gotten to be quite good friends over the years. "She more or less guessed at it. I suppose we're more transparent than we think."

At the revelation James sighed, but some of the tension did leave his body. Moneypenny – though not as much as Alec – was trustworthy in her own way. She had helped him during the aftermath of the Skyfall incident, after all. “I suppose not,” his voice rumbled low in his chest as he responded, the words weighing heavy on him even as he knew they were true, “and that means we need to tell M.”

Though he wasn’t looking forward to the hoops he would have to inevitably jump through, Q knew James was right. He was also fairly certain that Moneypenny and Alec must have discussed their suspicions with each other. Otherwise, it was far too coincidental that they would both be approached about it on the same day. “Yes, I know. He isn’t going to be pleased.”

A huff of unamused laughter escaped James in response to Q’s response. “No, he won’t,” both of them were actually understating M’s likely reaction quite a bit, but they both also knew there was not much they could do but be honest and bear the brunt of it. With a sigh, James bent his head and tucked his forehead in against the curve of Q’s neck, letting the comforting presence wash over him. As long as Q was in agreement that M needed to be told, there wasn’t much else to discuss. 

Q let his fingers brush gently through James' short hair before he leaned down to kiss the top of his head. "This would probably be more comfortable for us both if we went to bed, don't you think? There isn't anything to be done about it right now, and for all that I'm wide awake I'm sure you'll be able to sleep with as much scotch as you drank."

The quiet sound of an amused, burble of a laugh escaped against Q’s neck before James lifted his head away. “You should be asleep anyway,” he countered, gently disentangling the two of them only to stand and carefully pull Q into his arms. Walking through the house, he stopped at the light switches long enough for Q to turn them all down before taking the younger man back into his bedroom and laying him gently on the bed. 

"I'm not fragile, you know," Q replied, though he allowed himself to be carried since he knew better than to try and tell James to put him down. "It only hurts when I pull on the stitches, and that's only when I sit or stand or bend too much toward my right side. I'm not sick, either. You worry too much, as endearing as it is." Once he was set down, Q shifted so that he could pull his clothes off. Before he was with James, he would wear pajamas to bed. Now he was lucky if he wore anything at all.

“You’re not fragile,” James countered from the bathroom, where he was taking a flannel to his face and preparing for bed, “but it hurts when you sit, stand, or bend. Strange.” The sardonic lilt of his voice was evident as it rang through the bedroom. James disagreed wholeheartedly with the idea that he worried too much. He did no such thing. Q didn’t let him worry enough.

"Just because it hurts sometimes doesn't mean I'm fragile. I can walk. I can work." He waited until James climbed into bed beside him before kissing him. "I can kiss you." When he saw in James' expression that kissing was as far as they were going to get, he sighed and settled for resting his head on James' shoulder. "I promise, I'm fine. We'll get everything with M sorted out in the morning."


	54. Wash Up

It took three days before James and Q were able to meet with M alone. The older man was still pleased with how their mission had gone and had been in what passed for a good mood when he welcomed them into his office. However, there was something like suspicion in his gaze as he took in the agent and his Quartermaster; it wasn't often that anyone requested to meet with him like this. "Well, gentlemen. What is it that's so urgent?"

Taking one of the seats that had been offered to them both, James waited for Q to do the same before speaking. He had decided there was no use in beating around the bush – M was sharp and James had grown to respect him. The best thing to do was just be out with it. Before Q could speak, James took the brunt of it upon himself, hoping that by delivering the news M’s ire would be focused on him, “The Quartermaster and I are engaged in a personal romantic relationship. We are now disclosing that to you.”

Q didn't feel the need to add anything to the statement; he simply glanced at James out of the corner of his eye before turning his gaze back to M. All traces of his earlier good mood were gone, though he didn't explode with rage, either. Even when he was angry, M had a level-headedness to him that Q respected. The older man let out a long-suffering sigh and looked between them for a long time. "While I appreciate your candor, you both know that this relationship is against regulation. And I'm fairly certain that by the very virtue of you bringing this to me now, it has been going on for some time." He paused then, allowing one of them to confirm his theory.

“It’s been going on long enough to ensure its validity,” James responded smoothly, unflinching as he met M’s gaze, “to ensure we didn’t disrupt our normal proceedings for something that would sputter out over time.” He left it at that. His personal life was just that – his own – and he did not owe specifics to the man in front of him.

M's frown only deepened at James' words. "Oh, how considerate of you. This shouldn't have happened in the first place. You, I'd expect it from." He turned his gaze to Q then, his expression hardening. "I thought you knew better." Q's back stiffened in response to that gaze but he didn't wither under it. 

"With all due respect, sir, neither of us has compromised our duty to our jobs. I have not shown any favoritism and 007 has continued to be successful in his missions. If that was not the case, or if I had ever become too emotional to do my job, you would have heard about this far sooner."

“Don’t think I don’t understand how this organization works,” M shot back as a rejoinder, eyes cold, “and that coworkers cover for one another.” Pulling out his favorite phrase from younger day spend schooling young military lads in the ways of the world, M finished with, “I may have been born at night, but it wasn’t last night. I know I’m not the first person you’ve told.”

"Coworkers also gossip, sir," Q replied, careful to keep his tone respectful. "And not all the agents necessarily like each other. If there had been favoritism or if I had failed in my job, you would have heard about it whether some of Q-Division attempted to cover for me or not." The rumor mill at MI6 was just as active as any other company; possibly moreso considering that they dealt in national security so the only people they had to gossip with were coworkers. "I can have records drawn up for you as well, if you would like." Q's biggest concern right now was convincing M that they could maintain a proper working relationship outside of their personal one.

“Right now, I don’t want to hear another damn word from either of you,” though his voice was level and calm – M was the consummate professional after all – it was still quite evident that he was angry. “Q, from this moment forward, unless I specifically state otherwise, you will no longer monitor 007 or be in charge of his equipment. I want both of you out of my office now. Moneypenny will schedule you in when I have made my final determinations.” 

In all honesty, this meeting had gone better than he had anticipated. "Of course, sir," Q agreed before he rose, waiting for James to comply as well. He shot the other man a look, hoping he wasn't intending on mouthing off. It would take time to prove that they could maintain a proper balance between their professional and personal lives now that M knew and Q was planning on providing every kind of proof he could think of to accomplish just that.

Though he was keyed up, fight or flight active, James knew that as much as he wished it were otherwise, flight was the best option here. Arguing with M would just serve to increase his distrust and make things harder for the two of them. But as an agent he it made him angry – Q saw him through some of the most hell raising missions he’d ever had and got him out safe on the other side. Having that taken away was putting his damn life in danger. He liked and respected R, but she wasn’t Q.

As they filed out of the office, Q visibly relaxed. Moneypenny stood up as well, offering a small smile. "Well, I didn't hear any yelling. That's a good sign," she remarked softly, doing her best to be comforting. "What did he decide?" she added, obviously not knowing what M had said about scheduling them to see him again. Q sighed and glanced back at James again before he approached her desk. "M wants you to make time for us to see him again after he's had the time to make a final decision."

At that Eve raised an eyebrow, though she followed it with only a sigh and a nod. “M is a good man, I am sure he will be reasonable once he’s had time to digest the information,” that said, she leaned in and pecked a quick kiss to both James and Q’s cheeks. Resuming her seat before M happened to step out and realize she was one of those who “knew” already, she did her best to be encouraging, “I’m sure it will all be quite fine.”

"Once he sees we can separate our work and personal lives, I see no reason we shouldn't be allowed to continue as we have been," Q replied with a slight smile, though he was still somewhat concerned. Even if he wasn't officially in control of James' missions, he still fully intended to watch what he could. He and James had found a rhythm to their missions and he knew that the agent had come to rely on it. Having someone else in his ear at a critical moment might throw him off balance, which could be fatal. He only hoped he could convince M of that before it came down to something so serious.

It wasn’t until they exited the office suite in full that James spoke, his voice a low and predatory growl, “You brief R until she handles missions like she’s you with a higher voice. You monitor everything you can from afar.” Having Q as his eye in the sky was a lifeline he needed, in immediate danger and out of it. Being without Q on his comms was more of a punishment for James than anything.

Q nodded, having already planned on doing just that. "I'll have everything ready before you head out again, James. I wouldn't do anything to risk you. Neither would R." He hoped that James would manage to keep a level head throughout this until he had enough data to prove to M that they worked better together. Q was always prepared to lose James every time he left and he would be utterly devastated should it come down to that. However, he was the type of person who would rather see and know exactly what happened than to have to learn secondhand. He was confident that even if James was put in a fatal position while he was monitoring, he would be able to complete the mission without having a meltdown. Q just needed to prove that to M.

Tense even still, James nodded tersely and headed to the elevator bay. “I’ll be at the range” he commented between gritted teeth, the only thing keeping him civilized the knowledge that somehow Q would figure everything out. Since he was currently useless, the best bet was to go somewhere he could be alone and destroy things until it calmed him somewhat. 

Q reached out and took James' hand, squeezing it lightly for reassurance. "I'll be at Q Division going over everything with R. Come get me when you're done and we can go home." R was just as protective of him as James was, especially since she felt responsible for his injury. He knew he wouldn't be able to stay, but it would be enough to get to sit for a while and go over the details with R. As they parted ways, Q thought about all the things he would have to go over with his second in command to make sure that the transition was a smooth one.

Q-Division had been running smoothly without Q, though nobody was happy at his missing presence. Their leader, young as he was, grounded his associates and as he stepped out of the elevator the mood in the room almost immediately perked up even if nobody actually stopped working. Though she was always busy, R had a brief moment of downtime currently and was refueling with caffeine at the communal coffee pot.

Q was careful to walk slowly to keep from pulling on his stitches. Here, though, he did his best to appear completely normal so he didn't worry anyone else. Sometimes he would hold a hand over the wound and the pressure eased the pain, but he kept his hands at his side and his stride purposeful, even though it was slower than normal. He approached R with a somewhat tired smile. "I see you're keeping our wayward minions in line." Minion was not a term of his own making, but he had picked it up and used it affectionately.

His approach, silent as the minimal sounds of his shoes melded into the hustle and bustle noise of Q-Division working full force, startled her and she whirled around with a soft gasp, though upon seeing Q she broke out into a huge smile. “Q! What are you doing here? It’s still at least a week before your return to work date,” while R respected her boss without measure, she was older than him and definitely had a motherly side to her. She didn’t want him to stress himself and wind up hurt further.

Q's smile widened briefly before he replied. "I'm not returning. I just needed to speak with you. Would you be able to come with me to my office for a moment? Unless you need to return to your station, in which case I will accompany you there." Though she had never said anything, Q was fairly certain R knew something was going on. James and Q had had their banter of course, but the same could be said for anyone James flirted with. She was the one who was at his side during missions and she was perceptive; telling her would likely come at no surprise. Still, he didn't intend to do it in the middle of the floor.

“Of course, Q,” she immediately started for his office, keeping careful pace with him so as not to leave him behind. Outwardly she presented as normal, keeping a calm exterior as they made their way through the minions, but inside concern was roiling through her. The moment they were alone in Q’s office, door shut behind them, she turned to meet his gaze with worry in her eyes, “Are you okay?” 

He appreciated that R let him set the pace without a word, though he did his best to walk normally. Once they were in his office, he sat down at his desk and gestured for her to sit as well. "I'm fine, R. This has nothing to do with my injury. This is... well, in a way, it's a personal matter." He paused to sigh then, before linking his fingers together. "I suppose this won't come as a surprise to you, but 007 and I are in a romantic relationship. We've just told M this morning. Before I go on, though, I have a question and I do want you to answer honestly regardless of what you think I want to hear." He allowed his words to sink in for a moment before continuing. "Have I shown any favoritism to Bond or had any unnecessarily emotional reactions to his status during a mission?"

R took the news with her usual composure, letting Q finish his entire speech before reacting. She’d had the idea that Q was in a relationship with someone just from the fact that he seemed happier in his daily life. But the news that it was 007 actually did come as something of a surprise – certainly, they flirted on the comms, but James flirted with everyone and she though Q had just begun to do so in kind because when he got embarrassed or offended, it just spurred James on to greater detail. 

“To be honest, I had thought you had found a romantic relationship, but it is news to me that it is Mr. Bond. Though…” she trailed off then, thinking back on Q’s mercurial moods at the end of the Spectre incident and throughout James’s retirement, the news gave a whole new sense of clarity to that time, “you were together in some fashion before he left MI6, weren’t you? This also explains why you went to Saudi Arabia yourself to fetch him.” She wasn’t avoiding his final question, she was just working through the initial reveal first.

Q didn't shy away from her questions. In some ways, it was a relief that people knew. He was a private person but he didn't keep secrets outright. This would make life easier for them once M was convinced that they could handle it, he was sure. He nodded in response to her question, expression darkening somewhat in response to the memory, though it was only for a moment. "Yes, we were. I think perhaps he wasn't quite ready then for the relationship we have now. But that's all been sorted out." He paused then, knowing that he wouldn't have to repeat himself to get the answer to his question.

Unflappable as she was, R nodded as another smile broke across her face, “Congratulations, Q. I am pleased for you, and it warms my heart to see you happy.” That settled, she then turned her mind inward to the question Q had asked, thinking critically through it before responding. When she did she was frank yet kind, knowing Q meant it when he said he wanted the truth, “You have a habit of letting him play with new tech before most other agents, though when it comes time to actually distribute for missions you are fair about who gets what. Your flirting on the comms hasn’t gone unnoticed, though I had initially chalked that up to a coping mechanism for how often 007 gets in such a mood. Also, you engage with him more when he whines about being bored on recon outings, though that may be because the other agents don’t pester you as much to keep them company.”

Q paused and considered all her points. A lot of the reason why that was true was because James actually asked to test the tech and pestered him for a distraction from long recon missions. When the other agents asked for the same, he usually complied, though he didn't want to sound like he was making excuses. "The flirting is something James does with everyone. I've done my best to cut down on it. The rest, I will take into consideration moving forward. Is there anything else you can think of that I should monitor?"

Before she answered R studied Q closely, tilting her head to the side in consideration before asking another question in response, “Do you plan on going public with this, then?” What she had to say would vary somewhat dramatically depending on the answer to that question. All of MI6 knowing was a different beast than just M and herself being aware of the relationship.

Q considered her question for just a moment before he nodded. There was no reason not to now that M knew. Besides, gossip would pick up on it one way or another. "Yes. We might as well. The rest of Q Division will notice I'm not monitoring or outfitting 007 anymore and it'll just go from there. Better that the truth comes out than some misunderstanding that there's been a feud or some such nonsense."

At that R nodded, knowing that being out with it in full was the best choice that could be made at this point, “Then you should know you are going to have to go out of your way to help him less, if you don’t want everyone thinking you are playing favorites. Even if you keep doing only what you have been, they will all assume you’re doing more for him than the others. The only way to make them think you’re fair is actually to be unfair to 007. I know that’s not what you would like to hear but it’s the truth of things.”

At that, Q shook his head. "No. I will not treat him differently and potentially risk his life to prove a point. Though for now, M has other plans in mind and that is the primary reason I have asked you to meet with me." Pausing then, he took a breath and did his best to determine how to explain what he needed from R. "M has determined that for the foreseeable future, I will not be overseeing 007's missions or assigning his tech. That I will leave up to you. And we both know you are more than competent and capable of handling this, that doesn't change that the two of us have a certain way of communicating that he's gotten used to. I don't want him to fall into habit and forget I'm not the one on the other end of the line and say something you don't necessarily fully understand. I know you've seen what I'm talking about when you've assisted me and heard our shorthand. I'd like for you to continue that, if you could. I've been working with a few other agents on sorting out a shorthand for them all to make it easier, too, which you can continue to assist with." 

He didn't ask for her cooperation in this, as they'd already had the basic discussion about why their "code" was useful and what some of it meant. R had already agreed it was a good idea to implement, so Q treated the conversation as though she would have no reservations in learning a new way to communicate with the agents, even if it started out as being primarily for James' benefit.

“I am here to do whatever you need, Q,” as she spoke, the honesty of that statement was evident in R’s voice. She cared about her boss, wanted to see him get to enjoy a long and happy life with James, and if that meant speeding up the code learning process she had no concerns. Her analytical mind already sorting through the next steps, R continued on, “Do you have the time to sit down with me and fill me in on the details of what the two of you have devised currently? I can pull old recordings, so you can use them as examples.”

Q relaxed at her offer and nodded, turning his computer on. "As you know, I've nothing else to do but rest until the stitches come out, Until then, I have as much time as you can make for me, R." He gestured for her to sit behind his desk while he worked to bring up the recordings saved on his hard drive. He appreciated her offer, but it made more sense to use the computer at his fingertips rather than having her fetch her laptop. "There isn't an excessive amount to learn that you haven't heard in the past. After we began the habit and it proved useful, I started compiling lists to roll out to the other agents. Obviously they all have their own preferences, so I've sorted out the successful shorthands I've been using with 004 and 006 as well."

“Perfect,” she responded, feeling somewhat uncomfortable sitting in Q’s chair. Though he was significantly younger than her, R nonetheless very much respected and valued her boss and taking his spot, even at his urging, felt like her own form of blasphemy. Waiting for him to open the recordings, R then asked, “How else can I best take care of Mr. Bond?” She knew that even as wholeheartedly as Q trusted her, giving control of his lover’s missions over to her would send him into a tailspin of worry. 

Q sighed at her question, wondering that for himself. "Forgive him if he's moody. Obviously I would never condone any unkind comments to or about you personally, but he's not happy about this. Please don't take it to heart." There was little else she could do outside of walking James through his missions with the same efficiency he had, and Q already knew that wouldn't be a problem. Once his lists and recordings were pulled up, he and R spent the better part of the afternoon going through the code until James arrived in Q-Division looking for him.


	55. Pity

James entered Q’s office as politely as always, knowing that being seen storming in a snit through Q-Division wouldn’t do them any favors with M, but the moment he shut the door behind him and saw Q working diligently with R he knew that the important details had already been revealed and he could carry on with his day. His voice was still gravel rough, anger burning the edges though it wasn’t directed at anyone in the room, “Q. We are leaving. Now.”

Q's initial response was to tell James he wasn't finished yet, but he knew that he couldn't take up all of R's day. He nodded and gestured for James to sit. "Give me a moment to finish up my notes and I'll be right there," he said instead. This wasn't the kind of work he could just up and leave at a moment's notice. He told R that he would continue to monitor James when he could but that he would be a silent watcher and wouldn't interfere unless she needed a second eye in the sky. She had agreed, as he knew she would, and Q was once again reminded of how lucky he was to have her as his right hand. Once they were finished, Q shut everything down and stood. "Thank you, R. I'll work on some things at home and send them to you to round this out."

Nodding in understanding, R bade him goodbye all the while keeping a wary eye on her newest charge. He was practically radiating his anger, crashing waves of it rolling off his body in his posture and the nasty snarl on his lips. She knew that before they worked together on their comms, mad at her or not she should still lay some ground rules. As she called his name and watched the sharp jerk of her head as it swung around to level her with that sharp, piercing gaze, R straightened her back and held her ground, “We should speak, since you are here 007.”

Seeing that they would be remaining in his office for a few minutes more, Q stayed sitting. James frowned in response to her request, but the same reason he had for not storming through Q-Division kept him from any other outward show of displeasure. R sighed at the hostility, though she knew it wasn't really directed at her. "I just wanted you to know that I understand why you are unhappy with this arrangement, but I will do everything I can to make sure the transition is as easy on you as it can be. Q has also informed me that he will be watching as well when he is able, and I fully intend to keep him in the loop."

Though James did understand none of this was any of her doing his mood was still foul enough that he wasn’t exactly feeling gentlemanly, “You’ll excuse me, R, as I do understand your talents at the helm, but I have no interest in having you at the other end of my comms. Q and I have been working together long enough – and often enough – that you are unprepared and inadequate.” He respected R greatly and in a little while he would probably apologize for that statement, but it summed up his current mood quite well.

Q wanted to intercede, to remind James that none of this was her fault and his entire reason for being here was to make sure she was prepared. He didn't, however, want her to feel as though he thought she couldn't handle herself, so he kept quiet. R kept her posture controlled and didn't so much as flinch at James' words. "I know I will never be your preference. But Q is preparing me for this himself. So unless you are implying that he is also so unprepared and inadequate that he cannot ensure that I am ready for this, I will assume that you are speaking out of anger and not that what you feel is actually true." That said, she took a step back to be out of Q's way. "I'm happy you're recovering well, Q," she said as he walked past, flashing him the briefest of smiles before looking to James again. "I assure you I will be ready before you go out again."

Though the glower he shot her was evident, James didn’t actually say anything aloud. He’d said his piece and in his anger her words really didn’t even register. With a huff of annoyance, he turned his attention away from her and to Q, “Up. Home. Now.” The shooting range had taken the lethal edge off his anger but it was still honed sharp and dangerous.

Without a word, Q complied, though he did glance apologetically at R before he left. He was sure they would have time to talk about it later, but she was right; James was angry and taking it out on her. It wasn't appropriate but he knew she understood. On their way out, Q leaned against James' side in the elevator. "Did the range make you feel any better?"

“Marginally,” he answered, calmer now just via the virtue of having nobody else to direct his ire toward. Though, truth be told, he had received news roughly half an hour ago that had him vaguely contemplating exactly how treasonous it would have been to shoot the leader of MI6. But there was no sense in dropping bad news on Q here. Better to wait until they were home and away from prying coworkers. 

Q could tell already that James wasn't going to be much for conversation, so he left it at that, quiet throughout the car ride home. The other man seemed distracted by something, though he thought it best to give James the opportunity to bring it up himself before he pried. It wasn't very late in the afternoon, so Q hoped that some dinner and time together would help James' mood. "Stop and get some take away for dinner. I have some things I still need to send to R, and you seem too distracted to cook."

With only a grunt of acknowledgement, James altered course slightly to take them to one of their favorite takeaway spots: it was close and they were quick. Tossing the food unceremoniously into the back of the car, James finished the drive home in complete silence and made the trek upstairs much the same. By the time they actually reached the flat he was livid, the throb of his jugular plainly visible against his skin.

Far from looking merely distracted, the more time that passed, the more angry James looked. It was unusual for his anger to ebb and flow if it was from the same thing, but there was nothing Q could think of that would have brought on a resurgence of his ire. So he kept quiet as well, taking their dinner out of the back seat and heading up to the flat, disappearing into the kitchen to get plates and silverware for them both.

Before Q could even procure those simple items James was in the shower, water so hot it was near to scalding beating down on his skin. He wasn’t hungry; he never felt the cues his own body sent him when he was in a mood like this. It was how he survived his mission – focus on nothing but the obstacle until the obstacle had been surmounted. But M wasn’t an obstacle he could surmount, not legally at least, and James had no illusions about how quickly he’d be thrown into lockup if he acted on some of the more visceral ideas in his head. 

Q frowned when he returned and James had disappeared into the bathroom. He tested the handle and found exactly what he'd expected - it was locked. Resigned, Q went back to the table and ate quickly. He set out James' portion for him, hoping he'd eat when he came out. With nothing else to do, he put his dishes in the dishwasher and retired to his office, beginning to compile the last few pieces needed for R. He could only hope that James would calm down after he finished in the shower.

When James finally stepped out of the shower he was still as angry as he had been going in. Drying himself brusquely and shaving with sharp efficiency, James redressed and went to find Q. There was nothing else he could do at this point, no other ways to get out of it had manifested in all this time. Standing in the doorway to Q’s office, James didn’t even wait to ensure he had his attention before he spoke, “I leave on mission tomorrow. Singapore. At least a month, more likely six weeks.”

Looking up sharply, Q worked through James words before he frowned deeply. "So that's what's gotten you so riled up." It wasn't a question and it was clear he didn't expect an answer. It certainly wasn't enough time to allow R to learn all the shorthands they used; he'd have to keep her updated while he monitored from afar, though he hoped the delay wouldn't cause serious problems. If he had to, he'd use a private comm line with her and simply tell her what to say in response. The flight to Singapore was a long one, though; long enough to make sure she had the basics down. "I wish you would have told me sooner. I'd have done more to prepare while I was still at Q Division. I'll make sure R is prepared, and I'll be monitoring as well."

If he had mentioned it while they were still at HQ, James knew he never would have gotten Q to leave the building. He needed him here, the feral beast lurking within him needed to take Q in some twisted middle finger to M – James would have Q mission or not, displeased boss or not. “Get up,” he growled, tone clearly unwilling to book any argument, “and get in the bedroom.” 

Clenching his jaw for a moment, Q nodded, turning back to his desk to send the mostly completed document to R along with a message that they would need to begin much sooner than expected before he complied. He was careful to move without any stiffness, not wanting James to change his plans due to the injury. He made his way to the bedroom and changed quickly before sliding under the sheets.

James followed at a distance, as though he was stalking Q like a predatory lion. When Q was finally ensconced between the covers James turned off the light and stripped himself, throwing his side of the quilt back only to sit down and pull Q up, then bodily across his hips until the other man was straddling his waist and James could press their bodies together in delicious friction. He was still aware, in the distant part of his brain, of Q’s injury and the fact he should be careful with him, but right now having him, taking him just to prove to the world at large that Q was his was more important.

Biting his cheek to keep from hissing at the sudden movement, Q rested his hands on James' shoulders and allowed himself to be manhandled into position. It had been too bloody long since they'd done anything even approaching sex and Q found that he had a more active libido than he thought. That, or he was just used to a nightly fuck whenever James was home. He wasn't about to let minor pain distract him from that. His face showed no signs of discomfort, and the pain was gone as soon as it'd come.

As it went, James took Q just like that. There was something about the position, the way it kept them pressed thighs to chest, the way James could feel Q’s cock rub against his stomach as it lay trapped between their bodies. It felt more personal, more intimate to be inside him like this. James maintained eye contact the entire time, refusing to let Q close his own even as his back arched hard in orgasm. Whether he realized it or not, James needed that connection just as badly as he’d needed the physical one.

Q did his best to give James everything he needed, ignoring the strain on his side and everything else to focus on the other man. He would have time to berate M for his horrible timing later, which he fully intended on doing. Once they'd both finished, Q rested his forehead on James' shoulder and held on to him, not yet willing to pull apart. He wanted to reassure James that he and R would work together to make sure his missions continued to be successful, but silence seemed to be that pattern for tonight so Q kept those thoughts to himself.

James held Q in his arms for a long, long time, still buried in him even as he grew soft. Though he wouldn’t say it aloud, the thought of going into a mission without Q in his ear left him feeling dangerously exposed, vulnerable in a way he hadn’t ever expected to feel. He needed him everywhere, not just in his bed. But this was the probably the last connection they would have for some weeks, so James took his time and drank it in, his head resting heavily against Q’s neck.

Q grew warm and comfortable in James' arms and began drifting without even realizing it. He didn't know how long they'd been like that and he jerked awake again once he felt James carefully laying him down on his good side. Q fit himself against James' chest and pulled the other man's arm around his waist to keep him close. Q felt very similarly to how James did but he didn't want to ruin their night by bringing up the fears and insecurities they both had. He would work with R until she knew exactly what to do and would always be watching.

Allowing Q the time needed to settle comfortably into his arms, James then tightened his grip and held him close. He waited, the silence stretching between them until their world quieted in full and it seemed as though maybe Q had fallen asleep before, finally, allowing himself to close his eyes as he broke that silence, whispering a quiet benediction into the air, “I love you.” In his mind, that summed up the entire day, meeting with M to this moment in time. Everything that happened had happened because he would do anything for Q.


	56. In The Open

The following morning was a blur of activity. James had to leave early and Q barely had time to make sure he had something to eat before they were out the door. It was bad enough he had to leave so suddenly, so Q did the unusual and took him to the airport himself. Before James could get out of the car, Q reached over and took his hand, catching his attention. "Everything will be all right. R is committed to making this run smoothly, and I will still be watching." That summed up the necessities, so he left it at that, his own anger at M starting to burn. "Please don't let your anger make you reckless. I love you."

Held in place by Q’s gentle hand as tightly as he would have been by actual shackles, James mentally ran through the list of potential responses he had to those statements before, finally, settling on the only one that truly mattered. “I love you too,” he said for the second time within the span of twelve hours, manifestly unusual for him. But he was feeling hot under the collar, which usually led to recklessness in one form or another and whining like a child about watching the comms and running the comms being two different things wouldn’t make a damn difference. That said, James cast one last hard, piercing look at Q before carefully slipping his fingers from Q’s grip and heading into the airport with his usual purposeful stride.

The last week of Q's medical leave was spent monitoring James, occasionally talking to him in a private line when he was in his hotel room for the night. However, as soon as he did get back to work, M had a list of tasks waiting for him. At first, Q didn't think much of it and assumed his boss was simply easing him back in. However, after the third day of tasks well below his paygrade, Q caught on. Of course Mallory knew he would continue to monitor James on his own. He was careful to do it when he had downtime; while he worked on new tech or something that didn't require his utmost attention. Q was still very much the consummate professional and wouldn't dual monitor James and another agent and risk that double-oh's life for his own personal reasons. Still, it irked him, and he began delegating the duties as much as he possibly could.

But time passed and as hard as M may have tried to avoid admitting it, wasting his Quartermaster’s time on pointless meetings did not have long term viability. So what followed the announcement was a three week span of relentless punishment busywork that petered out into a normal work schedule in the middle of week four. Mallory sent for Q the following Friday and was waiting in his office at the appointed time, back to the door as he contemplated the various awards and accolades that decorated his walls. 

Everything about his interactions with M for the last month had rubbed Q the wrong way. He'd reminded himself to stay on his best behaviour and that calling Mallory out on his antics would only be playing into his hands. Still, when he finally arrived at the office, it was with a short fuse. It was one thing to keep him from monitoring James and quite another to interfere with how well he did his job. The busywork had tapered off some earlier in the week, but it wasn't something Q was relying on, and he intended on bringing it up in the meeting if it became relevant. On time as always, he knocked on the door after Eve confirmed their boss was present.

“Enter,” turning on his heel, M greeted Q face to face as the younger man entered the office; he was quiet for a long moment, studying the man in front of him before he nodded to the chair, “Sit.” It was with a sigh blown out through his nose that M took his own advice, allowing himself to sink into his own chair. Even still, his posture was as rigid as always and it was clear this wasn’t mean to be a friendly conversation.

M seemed to be just as on edge as Q was; normally he was a bit more polite than just giving one word orders. Still, he wasn't exactly in the mood for friendly conversation given the way the last month had gone, so Q just sat on the opposite side of the desk with his hands folded in his lap and an expectant expression on his face.

With the necessary time to think, M had come to a few conclusions. One: both Bond and Q were too valuable to risk losing or otherwise getting less than their best from. Two: the rule against fraternization certainly hadn’t stopped others in the past, it had just pushed them underground until something outed them and the whole situation got worse. Three: Realistically, where else in the world were either of them going to find someone who understood the demands of their jobs? It wasn’t the relationship itself that bothered M but rather the rank of both men involved – a report and a superior were never a good idea. “We need to come to a compromise, Q,” were the next words that echoed between them, polite and perhaps just the smallest bit tired. 

Q raised an eyebrow in response, quiet for some time before he replied. He'd been willing to compromise, but what M had in mind so far could hardly fit. "I hope you're not about to suggest more of the same work you've been giving me. I think we can both agree I'm paid far too much to file reports and take notes at budget meetings." It was difficult to keep the ire out of his tone, though he did try. M was his superior, but that didn't mean he didn't deserve to hear the truth.

“Tone, Quartermaster,” the look M shot Q made it clear that while he was willing to talk, he was not willing to take disrespect. That said, Mallory shook his head and admitted to his fault – it was always the best course of action in situations like this, “I should not have wasted your time these past weeks.” Moving on, M sighed softly and continued speaking before Q got it in his head to make another smart comment, “I am willing to split 007’s duties between you and R. You will be allowed to run his missions but that is all. She is in charge of armament, turn in, and without exception any and all medical requirements carried out by Q-Division.”

Q was well-disciplined enough to swallow the urge to huff, though as M went on it did become easier to keep his tone in check. It was hard to keep up the urge to lecture after the other man apologized. He simply nodded once Mallory finished speaking. "That's fine with me. I told you at the outset that I was willing to make concessions to make sure there was no cause to believe I was playing favorites."

“Good,” came the response, calm and even, “do ensure that 007 has himself under control before he returns to London. I will not tolerate misbehavior here.” Warning given, M brought his fingers together in a steeple before considering, “I have no intentions of discussing your personal life beyond this, Quartermaster, but I do hope you’ve given due consideration to the circumstances of the man you have entangled yourself with. You have an exceedingly bright future ahead of you.” 

"James has already acknowledged there will have to be some changes," Q replied, his tone only somewhat terse. He knew that he would still have to rein James in somewhat since he wasn't exactly known for having the most even temper, but that wasn't something he needed to discuss with M. He also didn't appreciate the insinuation in the rest of what Mallory had to say. He had gone over this several times with James himself, and he didn't intend to validate his feelings with his boss. "I will continue to have a bright future as long as I am allowed to keep doing my job. Who I am seeing will have no impact on that." Deciding to put an end to the conversation, Q changed the subject. "Is there anything else?"

Shaking his head minutely, M let his gaze move to the door, “You are excused.” He hadn’t expected a response any different than what he had received, though it disappointed him that Q seemed unwilling to face the reality of the man he’d chosen to partner himself with. But beyond what he’d already laid out, that wasn’t his concern. He only hoped he wouldn’t have to find a new Quartermaster if, or perhaps when, something between them went belly up.

"Thank you," Q replied briskly before he stood and left without saying anything else. Eventually, he was sure, he would go back to looking up to Mallory, but for now his annoyance hadn't had enough time to fade completely. As he passed Eve's desk, he flashed her a brief smile to let her know everything was all right before he disappeared back down to Q-Division to check in with R.

And so it was that things settled back into some normalcy. Q’s wounds had healed completely long before James returned from his mission to Singapore and the young boffin had managed to calm the double-oh before he’d even boarded the plane home by resuming his position as the calm, even voice on the other end of the comms. If anyone had asked him – or if he had been the kind of man to give voice to his fears – James may have admitted that it unsettled him, how well all of MI6 seemed to have taken news of their relationship. Certainly, a few idiots from distant departments, already jealous of Q’s youth and position, had taken a few potshots at him but those they worked closely with had been supportive and kind, even oddly excited. 

It was late one night, a few weeks after his return that James gave voice to the thought that had been swimming in his head. He was never one for relationships, perhaps that explained why he had to ask it aloud; it would be the excuse he gave if ever asked, anyway, “Q…” As he began speaking, James trailed off just as quickly, silently cursing himself for sounding like a desperate teenage girl. But the question persisted and so he forced the words out, grip on Q tightening as he spoke, “Does this change us? MI6 knowing?.”

Q had been half asleep when James started to speak, but it wasn't until he felt the other man tighten his grip around his waist that he really woke up enough to process his words. Blinking his eyes open, he took a few minutes before he rolled onto his back so that he could look at James. "It doesn't change a thing. Why would it? The important people knew already, or at least had a good enough idea that it wasn't a shock. The only thing that's different is that we don't have to worry about hiding anything." He paused, then, and frowned. "Has something changed for you?"

Shaking his head, James turned his gaze to the ceiling and really tried to think through what was going on in his mind. He’d been unwaveringly loyal to Q since they had reached that point initially – it’s not as though he could be more committed than he already was. But something about people knowing felt restrictive, like the burden of additional expectation had been draped over his shoulders. Words like “marriage” began to drift through his consciousness and James tensed, clenching his teeth – Q was right, nothing had changed and nothing was different. But then why did he still feel as though it had?

Q let the silence drag on for a full two minutes before he rolled over fully, trying to keep his expression calm. He knew James would insist things were fine if he expressed any kind of emotion. "James, if something is wrong, you have to tell me. That's the only way I can help." It was so difficult to get the other man to talk about anything, Q could only hope that his neutral tone was enough to coax the truth out of him. Eventually it would come out, though if they let things drag on it would inevitably cause a scene.

“Nothing is wrong,” the words came easy because honestly, they were the truth. He still loved Q, wanted to be with him, was relieved that M had finally gotten the stick out of his ass and allowed Q to run his missions again. There was nothing wrong. But… eyes flicking over to the man at his side, James sighed and shook his head before leaning in for a soft kiss, “Go to sleep, Q.”

Q returned the kiss, but stayed where he was, eyes searching James' face for signs of the truth. "I have a hard time believing you would bring the subject up if you weren't having doubts. You're not exactly talkative." He wanted to work this out before it ate at James in the days to come, as these things usually did. If it was just an errant late night thought, he would let it go, but that seemed unlikely.

“I’m not having doubts,” James kept his voice level and even, his poker face serving him well as always. And he wasn’t, not like that. He did love Q, he wanted this relationship. He just couldn’t quash the almost overwhelming sensation of suffocation – every time they walked into MI6 together they got knowing glances and every time he walked into Q-Division, be it for Q or something else entirely, it was like the whole atmosphere of the place changed. It was stifling. Cursing internally, James scolded himself for being stupid enough to bring it up, “Go to sleep Q.”

"James..." Q sighed and rested his head on the other man's shoulder. "Don't think you can bring something up like that and expect me to believe it's nothing. Just talk to me about it when you're ready and it isn't one in the morning," he replied. Q knew when to press the issue and when to let it lie; the best time to get the truth out of James was when he didn't have any excuses not to have a conversation. Besides that, he was dead tired.

Smoothing his hand through Q’s hair, James gave one of his patented non-answers as he let his eyes fall closed, “Goodnight, Q.” Perhaps if he tried hard enough he could will the sensation away, at least long enough to get to sleep. He would have to sort out his own stupidity himself. Eventually.


	57. Never Thought

The next day, and for several days after that, Q did his best to work out the truth of what was bothering James. He brought it up carefully at first, but James always brushed it away. There was something in his eyes, however, that convinced Q that it wasn't just an errant thought and that there was actually something wrong. After a week of trying to convince James to talk to him about it, Q decided that the other man would come to him when he was ready. He didn't get angry like he usually did when confronted about something he didn't want to talk about before he was ready, which pacified the Quartermaster enough to leave it alone for the time being.

His ability to avoid talking had always been James’s professional strength and personal weakness. It was what did him in this time. Three weeks after that, as he moved from the parking garage to the elevator that would take him to their flat, James felt roiling guilt and impotent rage curl low in his stomach. He’d considered not coming back at all. He didn’t deserve what Q had given him – he had told the other man that countless times – but going home to face what he’d done was the only chance he had at any sort of redemption. If there was anything he had left to give, anything Q deserved right now, it was the truth. Her scent still clung to his skin and the mark she’d sucked into the side of his throat was obvious as the light of day. He carried the shame of it with him as he opened the door to their flat and stepped inside. 

It wasn't exactly unheard of for James to disappear for hours at a time, on a mission or at home. Usually, he got caught up in doing research or tying up loose ends, or simply in the training facility at MI6. Q-Division had just developed technology for a heat-seeking bullet that the agents were lining up to test. There were any number of reasons for James to have disappeared that night without calling. At first, Q simply shrugged it off, picked up some Indian food, and retired to his office to work on his many projects. As the minutes trickled by, though, things began to feel more and more off though he couldn't say why. 

When he finally heard the door open, Q sighed in relief; he'd started to worry James had run off to Turkey or some random place because he got a dubious lead in his research, if that's what he'd been doing. Pulling himself out of his chair, he pushed the door open and almost at once the relieved smile on his face disappeared. James wasn't far from his office door, and the cloying smell of perfume hit him almost at once. It had become habit to inspect James closely for any sign of injury, and his eyes didn't need to roam long to find the dark mark on the other man's neck. 

It felt like someone had sucked him dry all of a sudden. Other than an annoying buzzing feeling right under his skin, Q didn't feel much of anything. Rage, betrayal, sadness. He just clenched his jaw and stood up straight, gaze completely devoid of any affection there might have been. Q met James' gaze for a long time before he turned, without saying a word, and went to the bedroom, shutting the door behind him and locking it.

James held himself still as Q came to face him, waiting for the other man to speak. He knew it wasn’t his place right now to try to explain; not that there was anything to explain, anyway. He’d cheated. There was no reason, no rhyme to it, other than the fact that for a moment he hadn’t felt like he was suffocating under the weight of unspoken expectation. It was proof, wasn’t it, that he was still James Bond, could still get all the tail he wanted, was still the virile and desirable man everyone expected?

But the moment it was over – even during, in some brief flashes – he’d known it didn’t prove any of that. He had already gotten one of the most brilliant men in the world, knew Q desired him, had become a better version of himself with Q at his side. But he’d never been one for relationships, they all came crashing down eventually didn’t they? Apparently it was just time for this one to end as well. Guilt and remorse kept his throat closed as Q stormed away. He deserved so much worse than that. The look in Q’s eyes, the blank darkness James had felt staring out at him… that was far worse than the sense of unnecessary panic MI6 knowing had instilled in him. 

He knew what he had done. Removing his shoes, James headed in for a shower to remove the stink of her perfume before bedding down on the couch to wait for morning, so he could face it.


	58. You Bleed

The bed had never felt particularly big before. Probably because James used as much space as he could, and before him the cats curled up in different places. But now they were all shut outside, and Q didn't have the energy to get up and open the door for Linux, Marie, and Tesla. He apparently didn't even have the energy to properly go to sleep; he just stared at the wall for hours until he opened them again and it was suddenly light out. It felt like a dream, still, surreal and impossible. But Q was a logical person, and he didn't put much stock in pretending. 

As he got out of bed, Q realized that he never took off his clothes from the night before. Making a face, he quickly pulled his clothes off and selected new ones. He changed and pulled open the door, perhaps with more force than necessary. It didn't matter to him if James stayed on the couch - clearly he'd do whatever he wanted regardless - but he still wasn't going to speak. Q hadn't processed enough yet to be angry enough for a conversation. Or, perhaps it was that he was too angry for a conversation. Either way, he went from the bedroom to his office for his laptop, slipped on his shoes, and left the flat. He saw that James was awake when he left, but he didn't even spare him a passing glance.

How often had he left his sexual encounters in this same situation the next morning, he wondered? Having to face a spouse or a lover who knew what had happened. James gave brief consideration to the fact that he probably managed to irrevocably break more than a few relationships that weren’t his own before shaking his head as though he could forcefully discard that train of thought from his mind. He didn’t care about any of the nameless conquests he’d had in the past. He cared about Q, about doing whatever he could to do right by the young man after this. James proceeded through the rest of the day with his game face on; never let them see you bleed after all. It wasn’t until he made it home and settled in to wait for Q that his anxiety began to creep through.

Every time he gave what happened too much thought, Q found himself on unfamiliar ground. He told himself when he first asked James to be monogamous outside of work requirements that it was probably asking too much. It was true that Q wasn't at all bothered by the women he slept with on a mission, and the fact was that James didn't do well with commitment. But there were two things that kept Q from being able to shrug it off; one, something had clearly been bothering the older man - perhaps this was his way of pushing Q into breaking it off so he didn't have to. Two, he had still promised to be faithful. Regardless of everything else that Q knew, that he broke that promise still hurt. 

He didn't say more than he had to at work, and R knew something was wrong so she left him in peace. Q threw himself into it, testing the new bullets himself, taking notes on recalibration that needed to be done, anything to take his mind off of last night. When he finally looked at the clock and saw that it was after 8 at night, he decided there was no reason to rush home. Let James wonder where he was that night. It was petty, perhaps, but Q wasn't bothered by that. 

It was almost midnight when Q turned up at their flat. Part of him expected to find it empty, or maybe he'd do it again and this time he'd find the woman there with him. Nothing seemed as it was before. There was a light on in the living room when he opened the door and Q shut the door behind him, kicked off his shoes, and stood there in the entrance hall trying to gather his wits before going to face James.

James had eaten cold leftovers from the fridge and otherwise spent the night expending considerable willpower not getting drunk. Disappearing into the bottle would have been the easiest thing in the world but he knew that would only serve to push Q further away, and rightfully so. He kept telling himself he was scared of commitment yet here he was, honest and guilty as he waited at home for the wrath he deserved and desperately tried not to allow himself the hope that perhaps Q would forgive him. He shouldn’t. James should be a better man, get up and leave, but he didn’t have it in him. He wanted Q. So he sat and waited, knowing the other man was home but waiting for him to decide when he was ready to talk.

Q could have kept up the silent treatment for a long time. He considered walking past James, leaving him on the couch, and locking himself in the bedroom - with the cats, this time. But that would only do him any good assuming James wanted things to end between them. Q knew he couldn't make that assumption, especially since he'd come back. He could have easily just disappeared if that was what he wanted, as he'd done in the past to others. Q took a breath and walked into the living room, arms folded across his chest. He leaned against the far wall, keeping his distance, eyes hard as he scrutinized the other man. He was hard to look at, with the hickey still on display. "...why?" Q was careful to speak only when he knew the word wouldn't come out broken. He would rather sound angry, even emotionless, instead of hurt.

James had known the question would come. Of course it would. So he’d done his best to prepare, to try to understand his own stupid choices, but twenty four hours hadn’t really been long enough to untangle the mess inside his head. Throat dry, the agent had to take a minute to swallow and gain some semblance of an answer before he spoke. “I don’t know,” was all he could think to say, the truth of the matter at this point in time. James had no idea how to explain the roil of emotion that had been going through him since he’d returned from Singapore to everyone knowing and their relationship somehow feeling more… more what? God, but he was frustrated with himself, “I’m sorry.”

Q's lips twisted into a sneer that he didn't bother to hide, and the anger that response triggered in him was the perfect cover for the pain. If his voice shook at all, it was the rage. "That's not good enough." He wanted to start making accusations, but that would make it too easy for James. He didn't want to give him any kind of excuse to hold on to, so he waited. The hardest part of this was the conversation, so Q resolved not to give him any material.

“I know,” that response came easy. Even under Q’s sneer James didn’t flinch, didn’t look away. He was clearly remorseful but he refused to act cowed. This was who he was – orphans always made the best spies and it was a rare orphan that didn’t turn into a fucked up adult. He certainly wasn’t one of the lucky ones. Hands resting limply between his knees, James sighed and met Q’s gaze with steady eyes. He wished the young man had the capability to make a machine that could read minds – just this once, he’d let Q use it on him. 

Q remained still, his expression expectant. He made up his mind not to say anything else, so he didn't. His eyes left James long enough to check the time; 11:43. He'd give it five minutes and if James didn't have a response by then, he'd go to bed and leave it for tomorrow. His back was aching with how rigidly he was holding himself and with the effort it took to hold back the emotion he was feeling. His eyes bored into James', his jaw remained clenched and he didn't say a word.

Why had he done it? What was a simpler explanation than trying to make Q understand the roil going on in his stomach? How could James possibly tell him that he felt suffocated by expectation without it coming across far worse than he meant it to? This was why he was an agent – the problems he could fix with his gun were myriad and easy. This was the kind of thing that made him struggle, “I…” Grimacing, he trailed off again and felt his frustration mount, so he forced it, gritting out the rest of what he was thinking between clenched teeth, “I panicked.”

His words just made Q sneer again. "You panicked?" He replied slowly, trying to make sense of the words. His expression made it clear he wanted more of a response but wasn't willing to offer any of his own insight. James was the one who had made the mistake, and Q wasn't going to help him clean up the mess this time. If he couldn't tell the truth, if he didn't have it in himself to force an uncomfortable conversation, maybe Q hadn't been worth all the trouble.

James nodded slightly in response, evidently uncomfortable even as he did his best to retain his usual demeanor. It was hard enough to talk about his feelings, would be harder still to grovel and whimper for forgiveness. He would tell his truth the best he could and let Q determine what happened from there. “MI6 knowing, it...” trailing off yet again James’ grimace deepened and he bit the inside of his lower lip hard enough to hurt, hoping the pain would help bring him focus, “it felt heavy.”

"It felt heavy. So instead of taking advantage of the myriad opportunities presented to you to tell me this, you decided that the best course of action was to fuck some woman?" Q chose to be vulgar on purpose, knowing it would help make his point. It sounded like James' reasoning was along the lines of what he already assumed; that the commitment was too much for him and he wanted out. The only thing that didn't match up with that idea was that he'd come back and stayed.

With a quiet sigh, James shook his head again, the motion almost instinctive at this point, “I never thought it was the best course of action.” He knew better – he should have spoken to Q, should have found some way to articulate what he was feeling, but he had hoped that given time it would pass on its own. Falling into bed with the woman had been a spur of the moment opportunity he was vulnerable enough to accept. 

Q felt his lips twitch, the first real sign of an emotion other than anger, and he took a moment to gather himself before he was able to speak again. "Did you think? At all?" It was becoming too difficult to keep a lid on everything he was feeling, and the last thing Q wanted was to break down right now. His own vulnerabilities, buried a long time ago, had been brought to light once more and the more he spoke, the harder it was to keep his words from shaking.

“Not about the right things,” James admitted, the emotion in his voice raw and obvious. He shifted, the supple leather of the couch underneath him warm to his body and radiating memories of all the wonderful times he and Q had spent on it wrapped around one another. Which was what they could have been – and should have been – doing right now instead of this. 

"I don't think I can talk to you anymore tonight," Q replied, pushing away from the wall. Everything he'd buried for the day was resurfacing at an alarming rate and he wanted to hide before James could see how affected he was. So much for having control of himself. "I deserve more of an explanation about all this. Pull yourself together and give me one by tomorrow, or you can leave." He managed to keep his voice steady as he crossed the living room. He picked Linux up off the back of the couch - Tesla had already been following him from the door. Marie was curled up on the bed, too, so he was grateful he wouldn't have to try to catch them all before he shut the door behind him.


	59. Naked In A Black Room

With a deep, silent exhale, James only nodded as Q collected his pets and bustled past him, letting the man go without comment. He was unsure how long he sat there trying to find the right words but when James woke up in the early hours before dawn there was a wicked crick in his neck from where he must have fallen asleep slumped against the back of the couch. Better to be awake anyway – he used those predawn hours to keep working on a better explanation for Q. 

Q had looked forward to the following day; he and James didn't have days off together very often, and this was supposed to be one of them. He used the opportunity to sleep in but had every intention of going in to work after hearing whatever it was James had to say. He spent some time with the cats before he got up and showered, appearing in the doorway of the bedroom once he felt like he was in control of himself again. He waited until James looked at him, then crossed his arms again and waited.

In contrast to the freshly washed and sleep refreshed Q, James looked almost as bad as he felt. Just punishment, he figured. It had been more of a struggle than it should have been but James found the steel in his backbone and forced the words out, “I was committed to you.” He wanted to say “am” but he knew it would open himself to rightful criticism – he clearly hadn’t been. “I… want to be again.” Shaking his head, James raked a hand through his hair and pushed through, “MI6 knowing should not have changed anything. It didn’t, in reality. I know that. But it did in my head.”

"You were committed until things got difficult. And instead of telling me, you ran. How many times do you think you can do that before it gets to be too much? Commitment is fine when it's just the two of us, but as soon as outsiders know, it's overwhelming? How can you expect me to believe you want to be committed when you can't even handle people at work knowing that we're together?" Q was aware that his thoughts were coming out a muddled mess, but he needed more. He could see how affected James was, but it was his bloody mistake and it wasn't Q's job to lessen the blow for him

Watching the man in front of him struggle to hold himself together just made the ache in James’s chest more acute. “Things didn’t get difficult,” while James didn’t plan on making himself out to be worse than he already was, he wasn’t going to mince words to protect himself either. Things hadn’t changed at all. Not one whit. There was no difficulty, just idiocy. “I have no reason for what I did Q. It…” biting the inside of his lip again, James castigated himself for somehow still being so inept with his thoughts, “I thought…” 

Grimacing, James cut himself off again and went at it from a different angle, hoping to find more success, “It felt like suffocating. Everyone looked at me differently. I was different, suddenly. I needed…” James sighed, shaking his head again, knowing how childish he was about to sound. But Q wanted the truth and James was doing his best to give it, “I needed to feel like I was still the same.”

"And you're only you when you're drinking and fucking random women? That's quite an interesting observation," Q spat, thought his voice started to shake again. "If being with me and not hiding it makes you so bloody claustrophobic, why bother coming back? What about screwing around makes it easier for other people to know that we're together? Where's the logic in that, James, it doesn't make any sense!"

“I know,” breathing out, James bowed his head briefly to scrub at his face with his hands, pressing the heels of his palms against his eyes as though the pressure there would relieve the sense of it everywhere else. If only things were actually that simple. When he looked up again it was with a sense of vulnerability in his eyes that would have scared him had he been able to see it, “What I did doesn’t make sense. I am better with you. I want you.”

"How am I supposed to be able to trust you? If you didn't think you could be monogamous, you should have told me and I would have been prepared for it. But if you make a promise to me and can't keep it, especially after I've given you multiple opportunities to talk to me about it, how am I supposed to be able to trust you?" Q realized he sounded more desperate than he did angry; he wanted a reason to trust James again. He didn't want things to end, but he didn't see how it was feasible to have a relationship that lacked trust in all its forms.

Closing his eyes, James took a very necessary moment and focused on holding himself together. As an agent, trust was paramount. He had sent people to their deaths for breaking the trust he had in them, almost died for placing his trust in the wrong people. To have Q bring that up cut deeper than almost anything else could have. “I was, Q. I want to be, for you,” taking another breath, James soldiered on through his own discomfort. Clenching his hands into fists against the leather of the couch, James bowed his head for a moment and did his best to let the words come, “You can’t, unless you give me the chance to earn it again.”

"...there isn't a way you can prove it to me. Either we stay together and you hurt me again, or you don't. That's all the proof there can be." Q was almost surprised at how quickly he went from anger to pain, but that was the primary thing he was feeling at the moment. James had no way of proving it would never happen again, and Q had no way of trusting him. It would either happen or it wouldn't. "I can't do this right now. You should stay at a hotel for a while until I decide what I want to do."

At that James nodded, raising his head to meet Q’s gaze, “Okay.” He would do whatever it was Q wanted of him right now, be that stay in a hotel or move out completely. Standing, James hid the grimace the sharp pain in his knees would have otherwise caused before smoothing his hands down his shirt, “I will give you the widest berth I am able at work.”

"And after everything I went through to get M to let me monitor you again," he said with a scowl. It was one last jab, but Q still maintained that James had earned it. He didn't have anything else to say and he did prefer to be alone, so he turned and went into the kitchen to make breakfast, silently making it clear that James should leave now.

At Q’s final words, James actually did flinch. He remembered the moment he first heard Q’s voice over the comm lines again and how it felt like coming home, gave him immediate and unwavering faith that the mission would be a success. And here he stood, having ruined not only his relationship but also managing to hamper his safety by losing the eye in the sky he had just recently regained. But he kept his silence, only moving once Q’s back had turned, gathering a few of his things from the bedroom before scratching each cat underneath the chin once and taking his leave in silence.


	60. Make Up Your Mind Before I Make It Up For You

Q didn't actually plan on leaving James in the dark when it came time for a mission, but he wasn't scheduled for one so he wasn't worried about it. He still cared for the man and would still do whatever it took to bring him home safely. Still, his point had been that he'd fought hard for M to allow them to work together and as soon as it had been granted, it may no longer be relevant. Q made himself some tea and curled up on the couch and watched television until his eyes hurt. He had to decide whether or not it was worth it to let James back in and possibly be hurt again.

He knew that the other man had trouble with relationships, but that didn't give him the right to use that excuse to hurt him. James was a grown man and he'd made a decision he knew would harm Q and did it anyway as some form of validation. Apparently he'd been happy and committed but how could he say that and then break his promise - the one thing Q asked of him? He was at a loss.

A creature of habit, James did what he always did – get damn near blackout drunk. But he did make one small alteration to his usual way of things; this time he did it in his hotel room, as opposed to the hotel bar. No risk of an attractive woman catching his eye and giving him another opportunity. The sun hadn’t even reached its apex before he was well and truly trashed. Sitting alone in the darkness, room silent but for the hum of electricity, James drank himself into a blank oblivion. He would probably wake up before he needed to be at MI6 tomorrow and if he didn’t, well… he didn’t particularly care. 

Now that James wasn't in the flat, Q felt more alone than he did the past few nights. It felt final. It felt like their relationship was over, no matter what he decided. He could only stand to have the television on for so long; eventually he shut it off but didn't have the energy to get up and do anything else. Finally, he gave in to the pain he'd been feeling and let it out, curling up with whichever cat was unfortunate enough to be closest.

It wasn't that Q was indecisive, but it was a week before he even spoke to James again. He was running late to a meeting and dodged into an elevator just as the doors were closing. Of course, fate wasn't about to let the opportunity go, so he and James were alone together. He looked flustered, folders falling out of his arms, but he did his best to adjust them and keep his expression neutral.

As quickly as the folders fell James bent down to help Q collect them, arranging his share neatly before handing them over without so much as a smile, much less a comment. He wasn’t going to take advantage of their close quarters, as much as he may want to. Task finished, he turned his attention back to the elevator doors and waited as it made its slow trek downwards. 

Q almost wanted James to say something. To hear he'd been missed. Anything. But James only handed him the folders and studiously ignored him. It was what he'd asked for, but it still hurt. Q took that as a sign, but now wasn't the time to talk. Once the doors opened, he hesitated for a moment, turning briefly to look back at James before he stepped off the elevator and went to his meeting with R and the rest of the development team. Three hours later, James got a text. 'Meet me at The Glasshouse at seven.'

The response in affirmative came almost immediately. James arrived early, dressed appropriately and fortunately not smelling of booze. He took a seat at the bar but ordered only water, waiting with nervous impatience for Q’s arrival. He had a feeling about tonight, that in one way or another Q was going to have an answer for him. Waiting for it was anguish.

Q arrived on time, but only just, dressed in the same clothes he'd gone to work in since he hadn't had time to go home and change. He noticed James at the bar and gestured for the other man to come join him as he was being seated. He felt such an overwhelming sense of longing that it was hard to shut down. They were both silent for several moments before Q said the first thing that came to him. "Thank you for earlier. In the elevator."

James responded to Q’s summons without hesitation, abandoning his glass on the bar and joining him at the table. He wasn’t the kind of man who fidgeted but he couldn’t help the nervous itch that wound its way up his calves. At Q’s words he could only nod, unsure of what else to say or do, “You’re welcome.”

They sat again in awkward silence until the waiter came and they placed their orders. Q was fairly certain he'd made his decision, but he still wanted to know more. "Tell me where you want this to go. You've said you want to be with me, but you also can't seem to handle the kind of commitment that comes with people knowing. I was hoping you'd come with me to meet my parents for the holidays, but who knows what kind of response that would get from you."

As excruciating as the week had been, it had finally been enough time – and perhaps enough alcohol – for James to properly arrange his thoughts. He felt more confident going into this meeting, knowing what points he wanted to get across. “I made a mistake, Q. I can’t take it back. I let… ghosts get in the way.” Taking a deep breath, James swallowed hard and continued on even though speaking her name felt like a vice clenching tight around his ribs, “Vesper turned on me within days of my notice to MI6 that I was retiring. It felt like some sort of twisted flashback. I’m sorry, I know you’re not her.”

"I know that this kind of relationship isn't easy for you, and I understand why. But I've done everything I can to try and make it easy. You can't just suffer on your own and then act irrationally when you could just tell me the truth when I ask for it." Q didn't want this to be a lecture, but he had to get everything out. It wasn't just that James had slept with someone else; if there was nothing else to it, he almost thought it would be easier.

James could only nod as Q spoke. He knew, he knew everything the young man was saying was right, he’d known it even as he made the decision to cheat. But James dealt with his demons in unhealthy ways and this was no different. Copping to it was still his current strategy and so that’s what he went with, sincerity in his voice ringing clear as a bell as he spoke, “You deserved better from me.”

"...yes, I do deserve better from you." He chose to use the present tense on purpose; it was subtle enough to give James some hope without fully revealing his intentions before he said everything that he needed to. "Did it do what you needed it to?" He asked then, not really giving James enough time to respond to his previous comment.

At that James couldn’t help but snort, the sound derisive, “Sure. Reminded me that I was exactly what I thought I was.” What he meant specifically James kept to himself, though he expected Q to try and drag it out of him anyway. He was a better man with Q and turning his back on that, on the man he’d become in order to try and find false comfort in the beast he’d been before, well… that worked out spectacularly. 

Q narrowed his eyes briefly, trying to determine how best to respond to James' comment. "I'm serious, James. If you were going to hurt me, the least you could do is make it mean something." All he wanted to hear was that the encounter had taught him something; that he didn't have anything to be afraid of, that he was still the same, that he'd rather have Q. Anything.

James felt his temper flare and then sputter out – his anger had never been directed at Q anyway. With a soft sigh James nodded and met Q’s gaze, holding it steady and direct as he spoke, “I’m better with you. That’s what I learned. That I am different. Who I was before you…” Yet even as he faltered, James’ eyes burned bright – he meant every syllable of every word he was saying, “I don’t want to be the man I was. I don’t want to go back to that, to strange women in strange rooms. I want to come home to you.”

"And this is what it took for you to realize that?" Q hadn't intended on sounding so hurt, but even after a week it was still fresh. He felt his face heat up with the emotion and he looked away for a moment. He didn't want James' pity; he just wanted the truth, so he could reassure himself he was making the right choice.

It was almost frustrating, how much trouble he seemed to have making Q understand. A short, aggressive shake of his head accompanied James’s next words, “No, I knew it before that. I just… lost sight of it.” Damn him to hell, but James wanted nothing more than a second chance. He wanted Q to do precisely the opposite of what James thought he should, which was turn him out and never look back. He should walk away on his own, help Q to make that decision, but clearly he was too weak for that. 

"James, I just..." Q sighed, getting frustrated again. It hurt more that apparently James had done something that caused him so much pain and it hadn't even meant anything. "I just want to know if there was something you got out of it. I need to know that it wasn't meaningless. That it reminded you of what you want. That you can move forward and you don't feel so trapped."

Had he been a man even marginally less in control of himself, Q’s words may have brought tears to his eyes. As it was, James bit the inside of his lip again and held it until he was sure he could speak unhindered, “I can, Q. I will. I want you.” There were times, and this was perhaps one of them, where James wished he was more prone to grand, sweeping proclamations of love and fidelity. But even better with Q, James was still James in some ways that would never change. All he had was honesty, “I love you.”

Q closed his eyes and took a deep breath. "I still haven't heard you say that it meant something." His words helped, but that was the one thing that hadn't been addressed. It probably wouldn't change his mind either way, but it was still an unanswered question he couldn't move on from. He was grateful that they'd both chosen meals that would take awhile to come since this conversation would be harder with constant interruptions by the wait staff.

The comment threw James, confusion flicking through his eyes as he tried to figure out what Q wanted from him. “Sleeping with her, Q…” shaking his head, James ran a hand through his hair and through sheer willpower avoided the urge to scratch the itch still bubbling under the surface of his skin, “she didn’t mean anything. You asked what I learned, I told you.”

"I wasn't asking if she meant something. I meant..." he sighed, trailing off and replaying the conversation. It was stilted, but in his own way James had more or less given him what he wanted already. "...what you learned was that you don't want to be the man you were before. Is that right?" It was his turn to look vulnerable now. 

Q hadn't even known how much MI6 knowing had affected James, and it seemed that no matter how hard he tried he couldn't have made it any easier for the other man to tell him. There would be other steps they would have to take together; would he have the same panic then? Was it selfish to hope that James could be comfortable enough with him that he wouldn't have to feel stifled?

Nodding his agreement, James reached out for his new glass of water and took a long drink, hoping the liquid would help settle his stomach. Somehow it seemed like Q was going to let him back in and that thought thrilled and terrified him in equal measure. “Yes,” he finally answered aloud, the vulnerability on Q’s face making his guilt skyrocket once again. Q deserved so much better. 

"What is going to happen when I ask you to come meet my parents? And my extended family after that? What happens when my traditional, nosy aunt starts asking uncomfortable personal questions and suggesting we have children or something else inane?" Q's gaze was steadily focused on James, but the vulnerability was still there. Q did a lot to present himself as unflappable and aloof, but in reality he knew - and James knew - that was far from the truth. He hated presenting that side of himself, but in this case he couldn't help it.

“I go and I manage,” James responded. His voice held no uncertainty. Q had agreed to so much for him – risking his position, going toe to toe with his boss, perhaps even forgiving him for his infidelity – that refusing to meet with his family and handle awkward dinner conversation was out of the question. The openness that Q was showing right now, the honesty in his questions was a reward James didn’t deserve. He wasn’t going to mess this up again.

"Just manage? I don't think I can do this again, James. And it's not just if you cheat; if you disappear on a bender or... I don't know. I know I said the only proof is if I let you come back home with me and it'll either happen again or it won't. But still... I'd like to know you've learned enough that there's no reason to be in this situation again." James had basically said as much, but Q was still uncertain. He had made up his mind to forgive James, but part of him felt like it was the wrong decision, if only because he was still astounded by just how much it was possible for James to hurt him.

There was no reason in the world for Q to forgive him. None at all. Yet here he was, basically begging James to give him permission to do it. It made James feel small and weak, the realization that he would never be the man Q truly deserved. But he wanted too badly, was too selfish to let him go. “I will not do this again, Q,” as he spoke James’s voice held steady and clear even as his hands trembled slightly. 

Q didn't respond at first, taking a moment to review their conversation before he nodded and let out a sigh. He understood enough about James to know that they would never really have a normal relationship and he accepted that a long time ago. It was just that sometimes something happened that reminded him and they had to carefully navigate around the obstacle from there. "...then come home tonight."


	61. Light Breaking

Though he didn’t have a clear name for the sound that got caught in his throat, whimper was probably pretty damn close. Nodding, James felt the first hint of joy in weeks infuse his body, though he was careful not to get overly exuberant. Nonetheless, the relief of it was evident on his face, “I will.” He wanted nothing more than to pull Q into his arms. But this was neither the time nor place, and he wasn’t sure if Q was quite ready for that kind of contact yet.

Q nodded and was grateful for the interruption by the time their meal came. Something still felt awkward and unfinished. He had decided to forgive James because it stemmed from his past, the pressure he felt once MI6 knew. They would both break promises to each other, and James sleeping with another person didn't feel like the ultimate betrayal that terrible romance movies made it out to be. It was just one of the things that he struggled with that Q had known and accepted a long time ago

The rest of the meal passed mostly in silence, but some of the tension that had permeated the air was gone. James knew he was going to have to tread carefully and that things were not going to immediately be as they had been but he had the opportunity to work on them now and that was all he wanted. By the time he made it home that night it was late – he’d chosen to take his suits to the cleaners, knowing they reeked of the booze he’d kept himself swimming in all week. He wanted things to be a fresh start when he arrived. 

Q let James do whatever he needed, grateful to be past it. He knew James had wronged him and that they would move at the pace that he set, but Q didn't like to dwell on things. He'd made a decision and he stuck by it. Things would be awkward between them for some time, and he knew he really had no control over that, but he wanted their relationship to be as normal as it could be as soon as possible. Once James made it home, he was curled up on the couch drinking tea and watching some horror movie that had been mildly entertaining - it was better than anything else he could find, anyway. "...welcome home."

Entering the flat to be greeted by such a normal sight mattered more to James than he had realized. The barest hint of a smile touched his lips, but it was a smile nonetheless. “Thank you,” he responded in kind, removing his shoes before padding deeper into the flat and turning toward the refrigerator for a beer. As he moved through the kitchen James resolved to take things at Q’s pace but otherwise act as normal, “Do you need anything?”

"No. I'm all right." Q shifted to make room for James on the couch. He wasn't sure how it would be received if he acted like nothing happened. He'd been lonely and James would be leaving soon, which only made him that much keener to have some sense of normalcy. It occurred to Q that nothing about his relationship was normal, but their futures in particular were so dangerous that it didn't seem to make sense to carry on with any sort of drama for very long. He'd accepted that James made a mistake and had forgiven him. Once the other man sat next to him, Q slowly leaned against his side.

Q’s cautious affection was more than James had dared to hope for, but he took it without question. Once the younger man had settled in and gotten comfortable, James wrapped a gentle arm around Q’s shoulders and let himself bury his nose in Q’s hair. This felt right, so much better than fucking a stranger ever had, and James knew that taking the risk of losing it that he had was the most dangerous, stupid thing he’d ever done. 

Q closed his eyes and let himself enjoy the simple comfort of being close to James though he didn't sit there long before he pulled back and looked at the other man. "I'm not really invested in this movie, you know. If you're ready to come to bed, that is..." It was an awful attempt at getting James to go to bed with him, but it got his point across well enough he hoped.

Another soft quirk touched the corners of James’s lips and he nodded, letting Q disentangle himself before standing. “I’ll turn the flat down, you go on,” that said, James made quick work of it, ensuring the security system was on and the cats’ water bowls were full before switching off all the lights and entering the bedroom. He was still careful in his assumptions, didn’t want Q to think his expectations were too high, so as he began to unbutton his shirt he moved toward the dresser to retrieve a pair of lounge pants for bed.

Q nodded and did as he was told. He stripped his clothes off but didn't bother with putting on any pajamas, curling up under the covers. He wasn't willing to forgive everything, Q was aware of that, but this was a coping method for James. It was something he understood, even if it had hurt. He doubted that things would be easy but there was no reason to dwell, not on this particular subject. When James entered the room and moved to get pajamas, Q sat up. "...you don't have to."

At Q’s words James stopped, hesitating for only a moment before nodding and continuing to prepare for bed, leaving the pajama bottoms untouched in their drawer. Once he was finished, James slid under the covers and reached for Q with a gentle hand, fingers trailing over the younger man’s side before caressing the sharp angle of his hip. James was quiet as he worked, enjoying the tactile sensation.

Q was a little unsure at first, and only felt foolish for having doubts like this. He was worried that he'd seem desperate, but the fact of the matter was that he didn't have the luxury of staying angry with James and easing their way back into things. He'd be leaving on a mission within a week and who knew if he'd survive this one? Q was resolved to make the most of the time they had while they had it. He closed his eyes and enjoyed the feeling of James' hand on him, leaning into his touch encouragingly.

James took his time that night, fingers tentative to begin but spurred on by Q’s encouraging willingness. It started with hands, moved to lips, and ended with them joined and James breathing out Q’s name on gasping exhalations. When they were both finished and sated, James pulled Q into his arms and held him tight, tangling their limbs together in a languid sprawl. Q’s familiar weight against his skin was bliss, the comfort he needed to finally get a full night’s rest.


	62. Love

All his worries melted away with the familiarity of James' touch, and Q forgot for a moment that he was angry in the first place. When they weren't in bed together, things were somewhat awkward until James went on his next mission, and the time apart only solidified for Q that he'd made the right decision. It was a blissfully short mission, and just a month after their reconciliation, Q was laying with his head on the other man's chest, lounging in the light of the afternoon sun streaming in from the window. "...James, it's nearly Christmas."

“Hm…?” drowsy with the effects of afternoon coitus and the soft warmth of the sun, James had been drifting in and out of sleep. Rousing himself, the agent looked down at the messy mop of beautiful hair that constituted his current view of Q and nodded slightly, “Yes, I know.” James wasn’t exactly big on the holidays but he knew what time of year it was at the very least. And he already had Q’s present worked out to boot. 

Q hadn't thought too much about James' infidelity after he'd decided to forgive him, but the thought that something else may trigger a similar response in the other man still made him hesitant. Q enjoyed the holidays in some ways and did take the time to see his family to celebrate when he could, which is exactly what worried him now. "I brought it up a little while ago, but I did mean it. I would like you to come to Oxford and meet my family."

The speed of the response, along with the lack of hesitation, surprised James even as the words came out of his mouth, “So I will.” His eyes widened slightly at the ease with which he responded but he only shook his head slightly and laid back down against his pillow. He and Q were serious, weren’t they? If MI6 knew, there was no real reason for him to avoid meeting Q’s parents. 

Q blinked at the sudden, easy response. He pushed himself up to look down at James' face, surprise clearly reflected in his own expression. "Just like that?" He wasn't complaining about the ease with which James conceded by any means, he was simply caught off guard. He'd always assumed that convincing the other man to meet his parents, especially considering his parents were closer to James' age than he was, would be difficult

“It’s what you want, isn’t it?” James queried, his voice soft as he brushed a strand of errant hair away from Q’s face, tucking it in behind his ear. As long as it was within his power, James would give Q whatever he asked for. It was true, the meeting could very well be awkward. James was old enough to be Q’s father himself. But he knew that Q’s parents were aware of the situation between them so he wouldn’t be walking into a surprise reveal. He could handle everything else. 

"Yes. It is." He paused, eyes searching as he carefully chose his next words. "I don't want to beat a dead horse, James, but this is another one of those steps. Do you promise to tell me if you feel stifled? I'm not expecting this to come naturally for you and I'd rather know the truth." Q hoped it wouldn't cause an argument; he was only trying to be pre-emptive and remind James that if he felt like he was in over his head that Q understood and would do what he could to help him through it if that's what it came down to

Six weeks wasn’t a very long time, even for someone with James’s capacity to drink away unwanted memories, so the idiotic risk he took and the fear it put in him were emotions easily conjured up. But he was James Bond, better with Q at his side, and he did his damned best to learn from his mistakes, “I know. I…” Taking a deep breath, James made himself nod and promised himself that he meant what he was saying, “I will.”

Q was sure it would come up again after the holidays, but for now that was enough for him. He leaned in and kissed James gratefully before resting his head back on his shoulder. "Thank you." 

Three days before Christmas, Q watched from the passenger's seat as James pulled up to his parent's home in Oxford. He couldn't say why, but he was somewhat nervous. Mostly because he desperately wanted his family to like James; they wouldn't see him often, but it would make life easier if they did. His mother was already leery about the age difference.

It was ridiculous, in its own way. The last time James had met “the parents” he was in sixth form and just desperately trying to get into the girl’s pants. It hadn’t worked. Perhaps that was what put him off the idea to in the first place. But here they were and how unsurprising, but Q’s family home looked exactly as he had imagined it. Postcard quaint, well maintained, clearly occupied by a family with money. At least he was dressed sharply enough to fit in. 

Once James' Aston Martin was parked and shut off, Q flashed the other man a smile and opened the door before something occurred to him. "This may have been obvious, but it's probably best not to call me Q here. My parents know enough as it is." It would certainly be strange to hear James call him by his given name; he'd gotten so used to being called Q that he felt like his real name didn't fit him anymore.

That twisted a grimace onto James’s face – he disliked referring to Q as anything but. Yet he understood why and nodded in agreement as he stepped out of the car. Looking up at the imposing home in front of him, James mentally catalogued the important bits he knew about the occupants inside. Dr. and Dr. Ainsworth, the former Oxford University’s Department Head, Mathematical Institute and the latter an exceedingly well renown clinical psychologist who split her time between her own private practice and research work at the same university. 

Q certainly came from a tony family and it showed. Of course he was as brilliant as he was, with parents like that. Allowing himself a small smile, James made his way around the car to rest his hand on the small of Q’s back – he’d far outrun his parents in terms of both the scale of his work and its importance. Q played on the global field, worked to undermine some of the most dangerous people on the planet, and saved countless lives while doing it. What did a professor and a psychologist have on that? Nothing. 

What he did know – Q’s mother was somewhat overbearing, exceedingly judgmental, and very likely to be on high alert. The only reason James was prepared to put up with it was that Q had assured him time and time again that it was only because she loved her son and had his best interests at heart. Q’s father was the calm, collected presence to contrast his wife, more likely to engage in frivolous talk and accept James’s appearance without question. Taking a deep breath, James smiled down at Q softly and nodded his head toward the door – it was now or never, “Lead the way, Quartermaster.” James couldn’t help himself – if it was going to be Q’s given name the rest of the night, he needed the taste of his full title on his lips to get him through.

Q slid out of the car after James nodded and pulled the large suitcase out of the back seat, setting it down in the snow at his feet before he looked up at the house as well. Even as a child, the house never really felt like his home; he spent a lot of time in his parent's offices and those places were what he fondly thought of when he was reminiscing about his childhood. It wasn't that it wasn't a nice house or that he had bad memories; it was just that it seemed larger and emptier than the offices he used to play in. 

He turned and leveled a glare in James' direction, though there was absolutely no real heat to it, just a playful reminder not to do it again. Q let James lead him up to the door, having relinquished his suitcase somewhat grumpily when James gestured for it after making his way to Q’s side of the car. He didn't have to knock on the door, though; it swung open almost as soon as he finished climbing the stairs, and he smiled. "Hello, mother."


	63. Echoes

Q’s mother was a stern woman, professional in every sense of the word and even here, on holiday, she looked the part. Hair perfectly done, curled in a bun at the nape of her neck, a smart dress and jacket combination skimming her slim figure, legs modestly covered with stockings and feet shod in coordinating heels. James was unsurprised. As she greeted her son her eyes grew warm, though the gaze she shot James could definitely be construed as suspicious, “Benjamin, welcome.” Stepping back she allowed both men into her home, resting a hand on Q’s shoulder to give him a thorough once over before continuing, “You look well.” 

Q did his best not to roll his eyes at how predictable his mother could be, from the look she gave James to choosing not to address him until they were properly introduced. Once they were both inside and the door had been closed, he gestured to James. "Mother, this is James. James, this is my mother, Dr. Evangeline Ainsworth." He'd been teased for being so posh at work, but he'd never really felt posh until now; it was such a formal introduction that he felt almost silly, though he knew it was what his mother expected.

Turning her attention to James, Evangeline stretched out a perfectly manicured hand in greeting. “And your last name?” she queried, even though she was well aware of it in all actuality. She vaguely considered scolding her son later for making her ask. 

Tilting his head slightly in greeting, James shook Evangeline’s hand with precisely as much pressure and for the exact length of time as she would expect, returning her question with the beginnings of a smile. He could be charming when he wanted, after all, “Bond. James Bond.”

Q resisted the urge to bury his face in his hands. He couldn't fathom why his mother was so determined to be so formal in her own home when she already knew James' name. It wasn't anything that was likely to change, though, so he didn't question it. He simply waited for the introductions to be over before speaking up again, "Where's father? Is he still at the university?"

“Your father is in the den, Benjamin,” as she turned her gaze back on her son, Evangeline’s gaze was stern, “take your things up; I have rooms prepared for each of you. You may greet him afterwards.” Evangline loved her son dearly and was proud of the man he’d grown into, but he would not be sharing a room in her home with anyone he wasn’t married to. 

This was already something they'd discussed, so it wasn't a surprise to either of them, though James was somewhat disgruntled about it. "Yes, mother," Q acquiesced before he leaned in and kissed her cheek as a belated greeting. "We'll be right down. Do you need anything from upstairs?" 

“No, thank you,” a smile graced her features then as she gazed affectionately at her son, “I am glad you came home.” With that, she took her leave, joining her husband in the den and waiting for Q and James to come back downstairs. Though they both had been very busy with work throughout Q’s formative years, they had both done their best to be present when they were able and their family dynamic, though unusual, was still loving and supportive.

Though he was aware that he and the rest of his family showed affection in what might appear to be an overly formal, almost stiff way, Q loved his parents and considered himself to be close with them and knew they felt the same. They valued their careers and their son in equal measure, so he had grown up going to work with them and seeing that first hand. They didn't always have time for the usual family bonding, but Q and his parents were intellectuals so they bonded in other ways. Once she left, Q gestured to the stairs. "Follow me. I'll show you to your room first."

Shaking his head in incredulity at the words “your room,” James nonetheless followed Q as requested. As it turned out, Q’s efforts to educate James on the quirks of his family were well spent – if he hadn’t been told otherwise, James would have thought Q’s mother frigid. As it was she was still overly formal, but that James could deal with. 

Once they reached James' room, he gestured for him to set the suitcase in the corner. "We'll unpack later. I'll take my things to my room; for appearance's sake, anyway." Q checked to make sure his mother hadn't followed them up, then leaned in and spoke softly even though he saw no sign of her. "She goes to bed around 9:30 and wakes up at 6. That just means I'll have to wake up before her and get back to my room before she's out of bed."

At that James chuckled, the sound rich and warm as it floated through the still air around them. Wrapping an arm around Q’s waist, the older man pulled him in close and strung gentle kisses along his collar, “Sneaking around like grade school students, are we Q?” Teasing gently, James flattened his palm over the small of Q’s back and kept him in close as he continued on, “Does that mean we’ll be getting handsy under the covers too?”

"I don't know what you did in grade school, Mr. Bond, but I was a model student. And model students certainly don't get handsy under the covers," Q replied teasingly before he reached around to rest his hands on James' ass, effectively doing the opposite of what he'd just said. "Come on, I still have to show you my room. And if we take too long, mother will come check on us. And didn't I tell you not to call me Q while we're here?"

“When we’re alone I’ll call you whatever I chose,” the smirk on James’s face matched the glint in his eyes as his fingers started to trail down and tease along the seam of Q’s trousers, “understand, Q?” When his parents were out of earshot, James had no intentions of calling him “Benjamin.” Pressing a soft kiss to Q’s lips, James sighed and pulled away before Q could scold further, gesturing to the door with a slightly exaggerated mock bow, “After you.”

"I think you're forgetting who is subordinate to whom here, 007," Q replied with a little smirk. He allowed James to pull away, knowing full well it wouldn't do to tease each other into a frenzy. He stepped back when James gestured and led him to a room two doors down, overlooking the back garden. It was laid out the same way he remembered it, his lush four poster bed perpendicular to the window, with a low dresser and armoire on the opposite wall. The desk was beneath the window and clearly was the most used object in the room. "This was my room when I lived here," Q added, though it was probably unnecessary since it was so clearly still marked as his.

A soft chuckle was the only response Q got in the spare bedroom, James clearly amused by the statement even as they made their way down the hallway. Upon entering Q’s childhood bedroom, James fell silent and took it in, feeling honored to be so easily allowed into such a significant part of Q’s history. It was a nice room, as far as rooms went, clearly professionally decorated, the furniture carefully cultivated to match Evangeline’s taste, even in her son’s room. But there were touches of Q left even now, in the sprawl of books on his desk and the tangled mess of wires from a computer left either half built or half torn apart. “I see you were at it young, hm?” he questioned, gesturing toward the deconstructed computer. 

Q smiled fondly as he looked at the computer. "That was actually part of my doctorate. I lived here until I started working at MI6." He was one of the youngest people to earn a doctorate from Oxford, something that had just been finalized when he got the position as Quartermaster. He hadn't even gotten the diploma by the time he moved to London.

That brought another laugh from James along with the usual gentle ribbing, “You are an infant, Q.” But he was fascinated and it was clear on his face – this was a part of Q he’d never seen before and there was something almost sacred about someone’s old bedroom, especially when it had been left untouched since they vacated it. James set Q’s bags down by the dresser, turning to pull the other man in close and kiss him, tracing the line of his lips with a teasing tongue before speaking again, “Your mother finds me distasteful. If I bought her expensive furniture, do you think she’d come round?”

"I don't know why she's so hung up on your age. She's a psychiatrist, she knows that it's maturity level that matters, and when it's put that way I'm far older than you are," Q replied, again with a little smirk. "Besides, you can't buy my mother. Either she likes you or she doesn't. My father is much more amenable to being persuaded. He's probably the only person who can truly sway my mother."

Q’s cheek only served to amuse James further and he decided he might as well prove Q’s point for him. Reaching down, James cupped his hands around Q’s ass and pulled him in tight, kneading the supple flesh as he spoke, “Eons more mature than me, Q. It’s amazing MI6 lets me play with all the adult toys, hm?” Tilting his head down, James bit lightly along Q’s jaw, wondering if it would be enough of a distraction to stop him from responding. 

"Yes. Completely amazing." Q rested his hands on James' chest and pushed him away slightly. "My mother will come up here if we give her a reason to, and I'd rather not. We'll have time for you to get handsy tonight." Before he pulled away completely, Q leaned in and kissed James again, biting his lip teasingly as he did so. "Come on. I think you'll like my father. He's been looking forward to meeting you ever since I told him you were a Liverpool fan."

Pulling back, James gave Q something of an incredulous look and quirked an eyebrow at him, “I am? Good to know.” In general, if James wanted to watch people at peak physical fitness compete against one another he would prefer to watch boxing, but he could enjoy a game if one was playing wherever he happened to be drinking at the time. Luckily, he drank often enough to have a general idea of how Liverpool had been doing, in case it came up in conversation.

"You told me once you preferred them to Manchester since their fans can be obnoxious and the players were "pretentious twats," I believe was the phrase you used. I figured that it was safe enough to tell my father you liked Liverpool," Q replied with a little grin. James wasn't one for sports, which he appreciated very much since Q couldn't stand them much to his father's dismay. Still, it would give something for the two men to talk about. "Come on," he said finally, taking James' hand and leading him down into the den.

Following obediently, James enjoyed the sensation of Q’s warm, slim hand against his own callused fingers and kept his grip on the younger man even as they came into view of his parents. He wasn’t going to flaunt their relationship, necessarily, but he had no intention of acting out of the ordinary, one of the Drs. Ainsworth present or not. He had to admit – he was curious to meet the man who had willingly attached himself to one as particular as Q’s mother.


	64. Psycho(analyst)

Everett Ainsworth was a scant 6 years older than James and it was clear that Q got most of his looks from his father. He smiled pleasantly when the two entered the room and immediately stood and held out his hand in greeting. "Mr. Bond, I presume? It's nice to finally meet you. Ben speaks very highly of you, but I was beginning to worry he had made you up." Though he was just as much an intellectual as his wife and son, he was much more active socially which was what made him such an effective professor.

“Dr. Ainsworth,” James responded, a completely convincing and warm smile on his face, “the pleasure is mine.” The handshake he proffered in return was strong and confident and James was pleased that Q’s father responded in kind – he had always thought the intellectual type could be a little soft. “Benjamin is too kind,” biting back the grimace he so wanted to make, James managed to avoid choking on Q’s given name, “you raised a talented son, I am lucky to know him.”

"Don't flatter either of us too much, James. It'll go to his head," Q replied, though he was clearly joking. Everett scoffed playfully, then reached out to clasp Q's shoulder in an affectionate greeting. "Sit down, both of you. We'll have supper ready soon." Once Q and James had taken their seats, Everett sat as well, his attention mostly on James. "So, tell us about yourself. Ben has been a little scarce with the details."

The consummate actor, James looked entirely relaxed and at ease as he sank against the plush leather couch at his back and rested a gentle hand on Q’s knee. Internally, his emotions told a much different story – James didn’t like talking about himself and didn’t appreciate the attempted intrusion, even though he knew there was absolutely no malice behind it. Being a double-oh made some responses instinctual; yet James pushed through nonetheless, “I work for Her Majesty as well, so you’ll understand if the details are rare, but what specific questions can I answer for you?”

"I've heard it enough from Ben, I won't ask about work. Tell me about yourself. You clearly have a life outside of work." Everett waited for James to share whatever he was comfortable with, all the while aware that his wife was assessing their son's partner with her usual sharp professionalism. He hoped this wouldn't turn into a psychoanalysis.

A small, lightly amused smile touched James’s lips at that comment, “If only that were true.” He lived, bled, and died for England with only infinitesimal interludes of joy given to him in the time he had to spend with Q. But that was a bit dramatic to share with his parents. Yet James was a charmer and he put his skill to full use considering the current company, “I am a car aficionado, I own an Aston Martin and enjoy driving for pleasure. I also consider the upkeep part of the fun.”

"I saw it through the window. Is it a ‘64? It's a beautiful car," Everett replied. He appreciated classic cars but wouldn't call himself an aficionado. Q snorted softly in reply, casting James a mischievous glance. "Don't let him fool you. He wouldn't be caught dead covered in grease. It'd ruin his fancy clothes.”

“You have a good eye,” James responded in kind, his own gaze flitting surreptitiously to the window – any time he handed his car off to a valet, the hired help or not, it made him just a touch bit anxious. At Q’s comment, James nudged him lightly with the toe of his shoe and scowled playfully, tone rich with amusement as he spoke, “I didn’t say maintenance, I said upkeep.”

"Well, it's the same thing, isn't it? Or do you just like watching the people who keep your car nice for you?" 'Namely me,' Q almost added since he was the one who kept the Aston in the pristine condition it was in, but that would just raise more questions. As far as his parents were aware, he was a computer engineer and had nothing to do with the maintenance of any vehicles. Joking aside, Everett spoke again. "Either way, it's remarkable. You don't see too many of those. I hope you'll let me get a closer look when we have the time."

The look James cast Q wasn’t exactly subtle, but James knew the nuance of it would be lost on Q’s parents – it was a sharp, smoldering look that made it clear to Q he was in for trouble if he kept running his smart mouth; James wasn’t above turning the little minx over his knee if he needed to. “Of course,” he chose to say out loud, casting an easy smile Everett’s way, “I would be happy to.”

Q pressed his lips together and looked away, though he was clearly enjoying the little side remarks. That, and he was pleased at how easy the conversation between James and his father was going, even if it was a bit banal as his father continued, "How did you come across it in the first place? Was it in such good shape when you got it, or was fixing it up part of the upkeep you mentioned?"

James weighed his options briefly – should he tell some innocuous tale about how he acquired the Aston or should he go with the truth? He wanted to do his best to keep Evangeline at bay, avoid giving her something to complain about, but at the same time he got a little thrill at the idea of getting her revved up. So, being James, he went with the truth, unable to hide the smirk as he spoke, “I won her in a poker game. She came to me pristine.”

Evangeline didn't say anything, simply raised her eyebrows for a moment and filed that information away for herself. Everett laughed, actually sounding delighted by the story. "A card shark then? I play as well, though I'd get kicked out of a casino. It's easy to play the numbers once you know how." As genius as Q was with computers and technology, his father was with numbers.

The smile on James’s face came easier with each passing sentence; he was enjoying Everett’s company. The man seemed open and genuine, the kind of person who’d never had to hide or mask who he was. It was simple, to interact with such a person. “I wouldn’t expect any less from someone as renown in the field of mathematics as you are, Dr. Ainsworth.”

"Don't flatter me, Mr. Bond. I'm sure you'd never have heard of me at all if it wasn't for my son," Everett replied good naturedly. Though he did enjoy his status as an internationally known mathematician, he was fully aware that it was only in his own field that his name was recognized and that was fine with him. 

“But I do have the benefit of knowing your son,” James rejoined with a good-natured laugh, fingers squeezing Q’s knee gently. As he continued to speak, he rubbed his thumb in little circles against Q’s slacks, knowing the other man was ticklish in that particular spot, “Tell me more about your work, I don’t understand the specifics but I am curious about the basics. Benjamin has told me bits and pieces.” 

Everett was only too happy to talk about his own work, as it was something he took great pride in. Math tied in to science, and he'd been called in to consult with astrophysicists and neuroscientists and all other types of math-laden fields. He used laymen's terms, though, and was able to explain in a way that was both interesting and humble. After he finished, Evangeline stood and gestured to the others. "Dinner will be ready in about ten minutes if you would all like to join me in the dining room."

Throughout the discussion with Everett James was lively and animated, following the conversation easily enough and reacting well, clearly a good audience member. He had cause to laugh, the sound genuine and almost surprised, more than once and by dinner he was more relaxed than he’d ever though he would be in present company. Brought to attention by Q’s mother, James stood graciously and nodded in her direction, “Of course, thank you.”

Q was beyond pleased with how well James and his father were getting along. To be fair, quite a bit of it was that they were close enough in age to be brothers so they had reminisced about certain things he'd been too young to remember. His mother remained quiet but polite, occasionally making comments but none of them really adding to the conversation just yet. He knew she wanted to get a grasp on James before she put in her own input, which he anticipated she would do during dinner. She disappeared into the kitchen to help with the preparations while the three of them sat. "Can I get either of you a drink?" Everett asked, gesturing to the server behind him.

James nodded almost immediately; he was navigating the conversation with ease at this point, but Evangeline hadn’t really taken a crack at him yet, “Scotch on the rocks, please.” James was quite sure that whatever Everett had on that server it was high quality and he looked forward to imbibing. Casting his gaze around the room, James couldn’t help but wonder at the difference between his childhood home and Q’s own. It was nice to have further proof that Q had an easy, bright upbringing. 

"Brandy for me, please," Q replied. While his father was focused on fixing their drinks, Q turned his gaze to James and smiled. He was clearly pleased with how the night was going, and he squeezed James' hand under the table. As his father set their drinks out, Evangeline appeared along with the housekeeper, both bearing serving plates. "I hope you're all hungry. Jeannie got carried away with supper. She'd like to see you at some point during your visit, Benjamin," Evangeline said, referring to the cook. She laid out a large roast, along with mashed potatoes, corn, onions, carrots, gravy, and stuffing.

The thought crossed his mind briefly – in a more temperate climate, with a more modern house, and a proximity to civilization, his childhood home could have passed for Q’s. How… strange. James usually did his best to avoid thoughts of Skyfall; more often than not, it dredged up the modern memories that still felt like a dull knife cutting a ragged hole in his chest. But the similarities were obvious and he couldn’t avoid making the connection now. 

Closing his eyes briefly, James scolded himself and followed it up with an admonishment to keep his thoughts in the here and now. He was going to need his wits about him to face Evangeline, after all. Thanking Everett for the drink, James then focused his attention toward the lady of the house and smiled gratefully, “It looks wonderful.”

Evangeline smiled politely. "I'll be sure to pass on your compliments to Jeannie," she replied before starting to serve everyone, starting with James and ending with herself. Though she was very progressive in her field, she was rather traditional at home, something that both her husband and her son liked to comment on. It was only after everyone had been served that she began to speak, keeping her eyes on James. "So, Mr. Bond, do you have family of your own you'll be visiting for the holidays?"

The fact that he had anticipated the question at some point that night was the only thing that kept James’s hackles down. The truth, for James, was that he did not have a family. He had Q; their relationship went beyond words. He had Alec, whom he’d trust with his life. He had Moneypenny, loyal and honest. They weren’t family, he didn’t ascribe that title to anyone, but they were his and they were enough. But of course, revealing that to Evangeline was far too much personal information. Wanting to avoid creating a potentially unpleasant emotional situation, James only smiled disarmingly and spoke gently, “Our limited schedule only allowed time for this visit.”

"Oh? Well, we're certainly honored you'd take the time to come meet us." The 'finally' in her words was left unsaid but was not exactly subtle. Q was surprised at James' answer, but he knew that his mother would not be satisfied with it. He had flat out refused to give them any information on James' past, so they were unaware he was an orphan. Q thought his mother must assume he was just estranged from his family judging by the fact that he never mentioned them. True to form, she pressed on. "Are you close to your family? Benjamin has been somewhat tight-lipped about you, so I do hope you'll forgive my ignorance."

“It has been an honor to meet you, Dr. Ainsworth,” James answered smoothly, taking a drink of his scotch and letting the taste sit on his tongue for a moment before swallowing. He did not like talking about his past and truth be told, he didn’t exactly feel like coming up with lies to tell. This conversation bothered him even though he knew it shouldn’t – it was an innocuous, common line of questioning and he needed to treat it as such. 

He debated for a brief moment, casting an appreciative glance Q’s way before he spoke again, “Benjamin understands how important my privacy is to me.” Though he could hope the unsubtle hint would be taken, James was one hundred percent certain that wouldn’t be the case, “Both my parents have passed and I am an only child, so I enjoy spending my holidays doing as he would like.” No need to mention at what age he lost his parents – he didn’t need to give Evangeline tragic orphan backstory to add to her judgements as well.

Evangeline's expression softened for a moment before reverting back to her usual neutrality. "I'm sorry to have brought it up. I apologize if I seemed insensitive." She never had a problem apologizing for referring to clearly painful subjects, and regardless of the age in which he'd lost his parents, she knew that loss was never easy. 

"While I can appreciate that you value your privacy, I hope you don't mind my bring frank with you. Benjamin is our only son, and we know so little about you. I think Everett and I would both appreciate the opportunity to get to know you better, so I hope you don't mind the occasional personal question." Evangeline was very good at expressing herself carefully, so that her intentions merely sounded like requests.

In a way, James couldn’t help but admire Evangeline. She was determined and dogged in her ways, qualities he shared himself. The knowledge that Q had parents that were protective of him, that clearly cared for him, mattered to James in a way he wasn’t certain he could put words to. It made him able to cope, even just a little easier, with his own history knowing Q’s was so different. Using his charm to his full advantage, James graciously bowed his head for a moment in acquiescence before speaking, “Of course, I would not expect any less. Whatever I can do to put the two of you at ease.” 

"Thank you," she replied sincerely; Evangeline appreciated his agreement. It meant that she could get the information she was after that much easier. She paused long enough to cut into her roast and take a few bites before she pressed on. "So, Benjamin tells us you're a Naval Commander. How is it that the two of you have come to work together? I can't say I understand much of how things are run at MI6, but I have a hard time putting together how your career comes into play there."

With a soft chuckle, James shook his head and took another drink before responding, “Today’s ships have more technology in them than I know what to do with. Lucky for me, that kind of thing is right up his alley.” Fielding these questions was easier for James – he’d already said the details would be fuzzy so he didn’t feel the need to explain why MI6 would be sending out their technological boffin to handle tech support for the navy. 

"So Benjamin is the liaison between MI6 and the Navy? That's quite an interesting position," Evangeline replied, seemingly satisfied with the answer. She had more questions, but understood that neither her son nor James would be able to answer them due to the sensitive nature of their jobs. She accepted that she couldn't know everything and moved on. "You must be dedicated to your work to have risen to such a respectable rank."

Acknowledging her words with a slight incline of his head, James was perfectly fine with allowing her to think what she would about Q’s position. Part of him, the smug, proud part, wanted to say that Q was so much more than a liaison, that he held people’s very lives in his hands, that he saved towns, cities, and entire countries from those hell bent on destroying them, that he was a certifiable genius who developed technology the civilian world could only dream of. But, unfortunately, he had to keep that to himself. He was almost sad that Q’s parents would never understand the full breadth and depth of who their son was and what he did. “I am, thank you,” was what he chose to say aloud, appreciation lacing his tone, “I’m a career sailor.”

"Well, I'm afraid this conversation is growing one-sided. I'm sure Benjamin has given you some insight, but feel free to ask us questions too. It's only fair." Evangeline smiled politely again in an encouraging way, but the offer was just another tool she used to get information. She was curious about the sorts of questions he would ask and could use that as further insight. She paused then and took another few bites of her dinner, giving James the opportunity to respond.

“Thank you,” James hid the amusement he couldn’t help but feel at Evangeline’s attempted analysis. It was true that half his job was weaponry and half was psychology. It was one of the oldest tricks in the book – the questions people asked were a direct link into what they were thinking about. He decided, for a lark, to go ahead and throw her some oddballs, just to see how she took it, “Your home is very tastefully done – who does your design work?”

Evangeline was somewhat surprised by the question. She half expected him to agree but leave his curiosity for later; she got the sense that he was like her in that he liked to get a read on people before he spoke. She was also not expecting that sort of question in general, but she hid her surprise well and smiled instead. "Everett and I actually do quite a bit of it ourselves; he has a surprisingly good eye for design. The rest of it we leave up to an old friend of mine from primary school."

“The three of you do beautiful work,” James smiled, his disarming charm on full display. As he cast one last glance around the room, James made sure it was obvious before dropping his gaze back to his food. The meal was wonderful but he was aware that neither of Q’s parents were the ones who actually made it. He would have to seek out the chef later to thank her personally. “Benjamin and I don’t always agree on the aesthetics of our home.” 

Evangeline didn't appear at all thrown off or confused. Though she did not like stereotypes, she nonetheless had worked with enough people and done enough research to get a certain sense about people - and so far, she had not had any kind of indication that James was actually interested in men. If he hadn't been with her son, she would have never thought he was anything but heterosexual. Not that it was a problem, of course not everyone exhibited the behaviors attributed to gay men, but for him to not have any of the typical behavior or mannerisms she was used to and then to suddenly play into one of those stereotypes by choice (since most of them were unconscious behaviors) gave her the impression that he was messing with her. "Oh? How's that? I know Benjamin's taste, of course; how does that differ from yours?"

The question prompted a soft laugh from James – the difference could be seen in their clothing as they sat right in front of her. James was all crisp lines, neutral colors, timeless yet modern style. If he had to give voice to Q’s taste, it would be thrift shop grandfather. Though the few times he’d said that aloud had gotten him in hot water. He went a little gentler this time, “I prefer a very modern and contemporary style. Glass, metal, leather.”

"Benjamin isn't that far off with some things. Though, thanks to his father, he is a little more old-fashioned than most others his age. He practically grew up at Oxford, so you can imagine the effect that had on his style." Evangeline's smile was more genuine now, affectionate as she spoke about her son. It wasn't something she did by choice, but rather a subconscious shift in her expression that gave away her status as proud mother.

The thought of little Q running through his father’s oak and mahogany clad office at Oxford brought a similar smile to James’s face as his gaze lingered on the sharp lines of Q’s cheekbones. He couldn’t help but wonder if Q’s face was softer in his youth, at what age he’d lost any remaining baby fat and became all flat planes and sharp angles. ‘Well,’ he thought, smile widening, ‘that sounds like the next topic of conversation.’ Out loud he spoke with soft amusement in his voice, “I imagine I also see it in his clothing, not just his design choices.” 

Q felt warm as he noticed how the looks on both his mother's face as well as James' changed. He wasn't embarrassed, though, just content with how well things were going. He could tell his mother was still judging James, but they were both still civil and polite and he was grateful James hadn't given her any reason to worry. Evangeline laughed softly; she was very modern in her own style and sometimes teased her husband and son for their old-fashioned clothing choices. "Yes. When he was young, he preferred to dress like his father so he could fit in with the scholars. It seems that urge never quite wore off."

The affection in James’s eyes was obvious as he placed a gentle hand on Q’s knee under the table. This light game of verbal sparring with Evangeline was fun, which surprised him. “It served him well in the end,” James responded, pride in Q evident in his tone, “he’s brilliant.” Squeezing Q’s knee softly, James trailed a teasing finger along the inside of his thigh even as he kept up the conversation with his mother, “Do you have any photographs of him when he was young?”


	65. History in Vellum

Q's expression didn't betray what James was trying to do under the table. He remained still for a moment before he shifted and crossed his legs, making it impossible for James to continue teasing him. Evangeline looked at Q now, smiling warmly still, and nodded. "Yes, he is." The change in subject brought her gaze back to James, the affection that was so clear not long ago fading as she shifted back to her usual polite neutrality. "We have several photo albums. A good friend of ours is an amateur photographer, so we were never short on photographs."

Undeterred by such a amateur attempt at evasion, James left his hand innocuously resting against Q’s upper thigh as he continued with his conversation. “If you were willing, I would like to see them,” he remarked, watching Evangeline carefully. He had already caught onto at least one of her tells – it was easy to see how guarded she generally was, the set of her shoulders and the distance in her eyes telegraphed that more powerfully than anything she could say ever would. But it was the moments of genuine motherly affection and pride that had set a sparkle to her eyes that James enjoyed seeing the most – further proof Q was loved and valued. 

"Of course. We don't often get the opportunity to bring them out. I'll retrieve them after dessert," Evangeline agreed. So far, she had no reason not to like James, but she did not usually have a full opinion on someone until she had several opportunities to interact with them. Part of her wanted to find a reason to dislike him, though she knew she would have to examine those feelings later since it was contrary to what she should want.

“Thank you,” James responded graciously. He truly was interested and looked forward to seeing a young, perhaps slightly less particular Q. Still sharing his winning smile with Evangeline, James lightly dug his nails into the soft skin of Q’s thigh though his trousers, a little tease to remind him that legs crossed or not, James still knew how to get to him. That done, he tucked into his dinner and let the conversation lapse naturally as they all began to eat.

Once dinner was over and dessert had been cleared away, Evangeline enlisted Q's help in bringing the large photo albums down from the office where they were stored. Everett shook his head slightly as he looked to James. "I hope you know what you're getting yourself into." He turned and reached into the humidor on the shelf beside the liquor, making an offering to James. "Could I interest you in a cigar?"

The offer was very welcome – James had noted the humidor when he’d first entered the room and had the feeling that Everett was going to have something to his taste. “Yes, thank you,” James responded, asking after the brands Everett kept in stock before settling on one – not his favorite, but a very good cigar nonetheless. After allowing Everett to trim and light it, James drew the smoke into his lungs and held it for a moment, letting it suffuse him before breathing out. He was fairly certain that it would make dealing with Evangeline easier too.

Everett mimicked James, sitting back against his chair, relaxed. "I don't partake often. I think Evangeline would prefer if I didn't do it at all." He smiled indulgently, then shrugged. "But it seemed to be an apt time for it."

“I appreciate it,” leaning back in his own chair, James allowed himself a few indulgent inhales before speaking again, “Benjamin is the same way.” Q had known from the beginning that getting James to moderate his drinking was going to be both the more pressing and the more difficult end of things, so he’d accepted James’s occasional smoking habit with not much more than a grumpy face. Everett and James then fell into easy, uncomplicated conversation as they waited for the other two to return.

Meanwhile, as Q and his mother disappeared upstairs, he watched her out of the corner of his eye as they located the appropriate photo albums. "So, mother, what do you think so far?"

Quirking her eyebrow, Evangeline paused in her mission and turned toward Q, her gaze lingering on his face for a moment before she spoke, “I do not know him well enough to have a fully formed opinion yet, Benjamin.” She shook her head then, reaching out to trail gentle fingers through his bangs – she thought his hair was a bit too long to be professional, but she was doing her best to keep that opinion to herself, “His age still concerns me.” 

Q sighed; his mother was always more careful and calculating than his father, who formed his opinion largely on first impressions and let it grow from there. It wasn't surprising, but he had hoped she would at least say something good about James. "It shouldn't, mother. He's not taking advantage of me."

“You don’t think he’s taking advantage of you,” she corrected, mouth pursed for a moment before she continued, “I have not made the same determination yet. Q had gotten his heart broken in University and Evangeline still hadn’t forgotten how badly he had hurt because of it – she wasn’t keen to see it happen again. “The fact that a man his age would pursue someone like you is a warning sign.”

"He isn't taking advantage of me. I know the signs, mother, I was careful when I started a relationship with him," Q continued firmly. The things he and James had in common had nothing to do with their ages, and in fact it came up infrequently outside of the moments they took to tease each other. Not that he could fully explain all of that to his mother. "He isn't with me because I'm young. That's when it's problematic, isn't it?"

Q could be stubborn when he wanted to be and it moments like this, it was clear what parent he got that from. “What proof do you have that it’s not your youth that attracts him to you?” Evangeline had been raring to have this conversation ever since she had found out about James’s age, but she waited so they could have it in person. She wanted to study Q’s face as he responded, “What do a middle-aged ship’s captain and a young, talented, technological genius have in common, Benjamin?”

"We are both passionate about our jobs, and he's quite good with technology in his own right. So that's something." Q knew he had to tread carefully in how he answered, and even though Evangeline knew that their work was classified, he was expecting her to take any vague answers the wrong way. "Even if it was my youth he was attracted to, why is that a bad thing? It doesn't make the relationship harmful or the feelings we have for each other meaningless."

Sighing softly, Evangeline shook her head and watched her son as he spoke. More than anything, she didn’t want to see him hurt, “What happens when you grow older then, hm?” She didn’t want someone to take advantage of Q in the bloom of his youth only to discard him when he should have been settling in for a long, happy journey through life with his spouse.

Q sighed and shook his head. "My age doesn't ever come up, mother. Wouldn't it if that was all he wanted?" He knew that James wasn't interested solely in younger people as partners because he saw who the man flirted with and knew his tastes. That, again, wasn't anything he could tell his mother, though.

All Evangeline could do was shake her head as she turned and continued into the office to collect the albums. She wanted Q’s relationship to be fruitful and honest but James’s age was a hang up she was having difficulty overcoming. It didn’t help that she had more than one patient in her office over the years who had admitted to chasing young tail just for the thrill of it or because it filled some hole they had in their lives. James even looked the part. But she was trying to be supportive and he hadn’t given her a concrete reason to dislike him yet, “The albums are on the second shelf from the top, beside your father’s diplomas. Please fetch them for me.”

Knowing that there would be no point in pursing the conversation further, Q nodded and reached up onto the shelf to pull down the thick albums. There were dates written on the outside of each of them, and he hesitated after pulling down three that covered the first five years of his life. "How many should I bring?"

Seeing his current collection, Evangeline thought for a moment and directed him to put the first one back and swap it out for the fourth in the collection, knowing the three he held now would cover him from about a year old to when he was seven. Foolish or not, she felt too protective of him still to share his baby photos. James would have to earn that right. With that settled, she took one of the albums from Q and headed back downstairs, letting him go ahead of her just so she could keep an eye on him.

Q was surprised when she asked him to put the first one back. That one was full of photos from just his first year and as such showcased all his firsts - first time crawling, first steps, first smile - he wondered if maybe that was the reason she instructed him to put it back, or if instead it was to show a broader spectrum of his life since the other books had a more broad array of photos. Either way, he didn't comment, merely nodded and stacked them in his arms and headed downstairs. He could smell the cigar smoke before he even reached the kitchen and he made a face at his mother. "I see father has broken into his humidor."

At that she frowned, the acrid scent reaching her at the same time, “Don’t tell me that Commander Bond smokes those wretched things as well.” But she didn’t need Q to answer that, as when they walked into the dining room it was clear both men were partaking. She sent a displeased look her husband’s way before setting the album she was carrying down on the table, “I’m not opening any of these until those things are extinguished.” 

"He usually doesn't," Q replied with the same distasteful expression on his face that his mother wore. He frowned when he entered the kitchen and saw both men smoking and exhaled sharply through his nose to show his annoyance. It had probably been his father's idea, he knew, but it still irked him. He set his own albums on the table and gave James a look that communicated his distaste. Everett on the other hand, smiled up at his wife, turning his head away to make sure he didn't blow the smoke in her direction. "They're not going to hurt anything, Eva. They're in page protectors."

Watching Q and his mother enter the room and witnessing the prefect synchronized symphony of displeasure both their faces went through was perhaps the highlight of James’s entire night. He was unperturbed by Q’s distaste, breaking out into a smile as he spoke softly, the words meant only for Q, “You are your mother’s son.” 

“Page protectors are not air tight, Everett,” still scowling, Evangeline had to resist the urge to reach out and take the cigar from her husband – she put up with it when he had his coworkers over and they felt the need to smoke, drink, and feel fancy while they talked about the beauty of numbers but she didn’t appreciate it now.

"You don't know the half of what that means," Q shot back; he could remember once, when his father had really upset his mother, she'd iced him out for an entire week before he finally apologized. It was a tactic he'd used in the past, which he knew would be particularly effective against James if he really needed to punish him. Not that this was one of those times, but that didn't mean the somewhat cryptic warning wouldn't be relevant in the future. 

"Smoke rises, dear, it isn't going to settle on the table," Everett reasoned, though he wasn't going to tempt his wife's ire by reaching for one of the books just yet. "And these aren't like cigarettes that burn up quickly and get ash everywhere."

A soft chuckle was all that escaped James, though to show his obedience he nonetheless tapped the last of the ash from the cigar and extinguished it. He was somewhat mournful to let what was left go to waste, but reckoned it was best to avoid upsetting Evangeline. He had a past habit of choosing to entangle himself with difficult women – a difficult Q was just another amusing challenge for him. 

Though a frown still twisted her features, Evangeline refused to make even more of a scene in front of their guest. At least he had the sense to stub out that foul smelling log. The look she gave her husband made it clear that he provided her the wrong answer but she left it at that, taking the first book and handing it carefully to James, “These start when Benjamin was about one.”

Catching the look on James' face, Q sat next to him, moving his seat around so that he could see the photos as well. "You can light it up again once we're finished, if you insist," Q commented, waiting for his father to do the same so that he could enjoy looking at old photos as well.

Everett eventually signed and followed suit, stubbing it out and tucking both of them away for later. He leaned against the table so that he could see the photos as well. They looked through them infrequently enough that it was always fun to see what memories they would bring up.

It wasn’t often that James came across something that felt so… foreign to him. Sitting around a dining table after dinner looking at old family photos certainly wasn’t something he had much experience with and to do so now, surrounded by such a healthy, normal family was disconcerting. But he kept that feeling to himself, cracking open the large album and beginning to leaf through the pages.

Even in his childhood, Q was instantly recognizable. His features may have been rounder, but that hair would be unmistakable anywhere. The smile on James’s face grew wide and genuine, though he was lost enough in studying the album that he didn’t even realize he was smiling at all. God, but having this insight into the life of the man he loved… it mattered. 

Q smiled as he looked at the image of his much younger parents; they were always dressed in what was fashionable at the time, even during the questionable period that was the late 80's. "It's too bad you don't style your hair that way anymore, mother," he commented, gesturing to one of the photos she was in. "Too bad about the shoulder pads, too. Why did they ever take them out of women's clothes?" There was sarcasm dripping from every word and this was clearly a conversation they'd had before.

There were times Evangeline wished it was socially acceptable to cuff your children when they got smart with you. As it was, she shot Q that same withering glare, “I’m glad you so enjoy historical fashion, Benjamin. It’s clear your preferred taste is sixties literature professor.” Her response was equally as rote, the smile playing at her lips proving that this conversation was playful. 

"Unlike the big hair and shoulder pads of the 80's, my taste in clothing is actually in style again," Q replied with mock defensiveness, though the actual truth of his words was debatable; hipster style wasn't exactly mainstream, but that wasn't the point. Q decided that since his mother felt comfortable enough to joke with him in front of James, it was a good sign.

“Doubtful,” James muttered under his breath, affection in his tone nonetheless. He’d had high hopes for the suit he’d purchased Q – that perhaps one day a week, or at least every two, that he could get the young man to wear it to the office. No such luck; Q wore it willingly when James took him out, but otherwise it stayed relegated to their closet. James was vaguely considering making him wear it before they fucked, since he saw Q in it infrequently enough that it would work quite well to turn him on. 

Evangeline laughed at her son’s words, her eyes gentle and loving as they lingered on his face. She missed him quite thoroughly, though she was respectful of the time his career required and proud of the man he’d become. But he was still her boy and she wished that she saw him more frequently. 

Q dug his nails into James' thigh under the table in retaliation for his comment. He kept his eyes on his mother though, smiling wider at hearing her laugh. "Father even has all his hair, and then some," Q commented, ribbing his father as well for the long hair he had thirty years ago - longer even than his own. Everett chuckled and rubbed the top of his balding head. "I'd say that hairstyle suited me a lot more than my current one, unfortunately."

Evangeline rested a gentle hand on her husband’s shoulder, voice gentle as she spoke, “You aged very well, Everett.” As her attention turned back to the album the conversation continued, growing easier with each turn of the page. James was clearly invested, eyes lingering on some of the pictures before he moved on, laser focused. It was a family, a real family spread out before him in photographs. It wasn’t the first time he’d seen an album like this but it was the first time that it mattered. 

Though most of her attention had been on the photo album, Evangeline did glace occasionally at James to gauge his reaction. She had first assumed that his interest in the photos was only to appear polite and that once he had them in front of him, he would simply page through them without really looking. So, upon seeing the gentle smile on his face and the clear fondness in his eyes, she was pleasantly surprised. It was yet another subtle thing that was making it more and more clear that his feelings for her son were genuine.

He had made his way into the second album before a certain photograph caught his attention enough to prompt a question. Q was in what appeared to be a gymnasium, surrounded by a complicated looking collection of wires, tubes, and other sundry equipment, all of which seemed to lead to from a computer terminal to a small black machine. Little Q had a missing tooth and a huge smile as he held a plate, on which rested a pancake in the perfect shape of a motherboard, three dimensional elements and all. “What is this?” the question came softly, James’s tone warm and curious. 

Q sighed and shook his head, though he was still smiling. "I've come a long way since then. That was the first thing I created for a science fair. It was a printer for pancake batter. My aunt used to make shapes when I visited her, and I expanded on the idea." Evangeline nodded, a proud expression on her face. "You won every science fair you entered, Benjamin. The judges were always so impressed by how creative you were." She turned her gaze from her son to James before she continued, "He was the youngest one there by two years. I still have all his awards."

James couldn’t help himself – he laughed softly, gentle and clearly impressed, “Born brilliant, weren’t you Benjamin?” Sliding his free hand over, James yet again ran his fingertips along Q’s thigh, though this time he followed along the outside seam of his trousers. Responding to Evangeline, James kept his tone sincere as he spoke, “How did the two of you instill all this in him?”

"You could say that," Q replied, resting his hand on top of James' under the table. Evangeline considered her response for a moment, once again caught off guard by James' genuine interest in her son's past. "Everett and I had Benjamin earlier than planned. We were both still working on our advanced degrees, and neither of us were willing to put that on hold. From the time he was born, Benjamin saw how hard we both worked, and we encouraged him to do the same. We managed to balance raising him and working at the same time. It was just something he was always around, I suppose."

James had known Q’s basic history, that he’d grown up in offices and labs just as often as he’d been at home. It was still interesting to hear it from the source itself. Nodding a bit, James turned his smile on Q, the loving tease clear in his words, “Everything about you makes sense now.” It had served James well, certainly. If they hadn’t raised such a talented son, James never would have known Q. Though he didn’t particularly like to admit it, James hadn’t even known Q worked for MI6 until he’d been promoted to his current position – there just wasn’t a lot of his free time he had wanted to spend getting to know the minions.

"Everything?" Q retorted, raising an eyebrow in question, teasing right back. He left it at that, though, and squeezed James' hand under the table. The reminiscing was interrupted, however, by a knock at the door. Evangeline frowned and stood up, clearly confused at the sudden knock, having not expected anyone. "I'll get the door," she said by way of excusing herself, disappearing shortly. When she returned, it was with another woman in tow. She was slightly younger and dressed more casually, but there was a clear resemblance between the two women. "I apologize for the interruption; it seems my sister decided to surprise us with a visit. Mr. Bond, this is Alice. Alice, this is James Bond. Benjamin's partner."

Ever the consummate gentleman, James rose from his chair immediately and extended a hand in greeting, “Pleasure to meet you.” Taking her in, James had to suppress a smile – so this was eccentric Aunt Alice. James was excited to meet someone of such infamy in person; Q had told so many stories, James couldn’t quite be sure that they were all realistic.


	66. Take It As It Comes

Alice smiled widely and leaned over the table to take James' hand. "You too, Mr. Bond," she replied, looking immediately to Q. "You've told me all about him, Benji, but you deliberately left out how handsome he is! These are the kinds of details I'm after, you can leave everything else for your parents," she chided playfully, walking around the table to hug her nephew. Q just laughed, used to the fact that his aunt was the exact opposite of his mother - she did not stand on ceremony and said whatever she was thinking.

Though his game face was legendary, this was one moment James couldn’t conjure it. ‘Benji?’ he mouthed incredulously to himself, a stricken look of horror washing over his features. He missed everything else that came out of Alice’s mouth, confounded and honestly appalled at hearing that nickname applied to Q. Q to Benjamin was bad enough, but Benji?

In that moment, Evangeline caught James' eye, and her usual neutral expression was gone. Instead, her face was a mirror of James'; though of course she was used to her sister's nickname for her son, it irritated her every time she heard it. Seeing that look on James' face, she felt a sort of kinship with him, and she simply shook her head, knowing that Alice would never change.

Evangeline’s obvious displeasure at the nickname sparked a brief sensation of hope within James’s chest – at least they had something in common. Surely there was more they could find from here. Still reeling from that terrible nickname, James had to shake his head to clear his thoughts before turning his attention back to Q and his obviously eccentric aunt. 

Alice was either oblivious to or willfully ignorant of the expression on James and Evangeline's faces as she didn't react to either. She made herself comfortable between Everett and Q, then gestured to her sister. "For God's sake, Eva, I'm your sister. You can stop standing on ceremony and be comfortable in your own home." Evangeline looked ruffled for half a second before she collected herself and resumed her seat. Satisfied, Alice turned back to James. "I hope my sister hasn't been too cold to you. She's a little protective of her baby."

Ever since they were young, Evangeline had the habit of mentally counting off the number of things Alice did that bothered her. When the count reached ten she either left the room or required Alice to leave if it was within her capability. Her troublesome sister was already at three – Benjamin’s nickname, calling her Eva, and that statement to Commander Bond. Somehow she wasn’t surprised the count got that high within three minutes. But she bit her tongue, instead turning her attention back to James to see what further she could glean from him. 

James turned a magnanimous smile toward Alice, calm and collected as usual, “Not at all, she’s raised a fine son, she has a right to her standards.” There were certain things James knew about people – one, in general, was how to flatter them. Evangeline wouldn’t be placated or pleased by commentary on how she was a worried mother, how all women fretted so over their babies and expected nothing but perfection. But James was certain appealing to the more rational side of things would please her. 

Alice chuckled and rested her chin in her hand. "What a perfectly diplomatic answer. You should have gone into politics, Mr. Bond." Alice knew that her disregard for manners - Evangeline detested elbows on the table - was something her older sister hated, but she never did it on purpose. She was simply more carefree in her attitude and felt comfortable enough around her family not to be so uptight. Dropping her arm from the table, she leaned in to look at the photo album, "I see we're already inducting Mr. Bond into Benji's lucrative childhood."

“I asked,” James responded, his eyes dropping back to the album. Alice’s arrival notwithstanding, James still wanted to see more of the photographs. Something about seeing Q grow from album to album and getting a full understanding how young his intelligence had set in gave James an even deeper respect for his lover. He truly was brilliant and James was lucky to have caught and held his attention. 

"Then I'll let you enjoy it," Alice replied, going quiet as she allowed James to continue flipping through the pages of the book. She was a talkative person, but she enjoyed watching her nephew's partner studying the photos with such clear fondness. Though Alice was much more laid back than her sister, Q was the only child in his generation and she thought of him as the son she'd never have. That being the case, she was protective of him too, even if she had a different way of showing it.

As the photographs led through the years, James asked the occasional question on some of them but for the most part kept to himself. It was a rare pleasure, having the time to do something like this. Rarer still, having some old family memento to flip through. James allowed the history of it all to seep through him, indulge in the knowledge of what it felt like to have such an opportunity. 

Once the last page in the last book had been flipped over, Q turned to James with a small smile sitting on the corners of his lips. "Has this satisfied your curiosity?" There were more photos filling many other albums, videos his parents and family friends had taken of his first steps, first words, first science fair, more mind numbing normal domesticity than anyone would know what to do with. But he couldn't help but feel like it had done quite a bit to help his family and James bond that much more.

James’s smile in response to Q’s came as naturally as breathing. Hand still resting gently on Q’s knee, James squeezed gently as he responded, “For now.” Setting the album back to rights, James then looked up at Evangeline before speaking again, “Thank you. Can I put these away for you?” Prickly as she may be, it was clear his mother loved Q. That was all James cared about.

"Don't bother. Eva never lets her guests do anything resembling work," Alice cut in with a smile in her sister's direction, unruffled when her sister decide to ride roughshod right over top of her words. 

"It was very kind of you to offer, Commander Bond. Alice can help me put these away, we have some catching up to do. Benjamin, Everett, take Commander Bond to the living room so the table can be cleaned off," Evangeline replied before Alice could interrupt anymore, gesturing for her sister to follow her. Alice simply gave James an 'I told you so.' look before she stood and gathered the photo albums.

At that James only held back a chuckle and nodded his understanding, waiting until the women were gone before he rose. Casting a hopeful look at his stubbed out cigar, James then directed his gaze back to Q for a moment before reaching out an plucking it from the ashtray. It would be rude to waste something Q’s father had offered him, after all. 

Q gave James his usual look of disapproval but didn't say anything out loud. Evangeline allowed Everett and his guests to smoke in the living room, so he knew it was pointless to protest. Everett had already re-lit his and gone back to the humidor to consider a second one. "You two go on and make yourselves comfortable. I'll be right there," he explained as he looked over his collection. Q stood and gestured for James to follow him.

Once his cigar has been rekindled, James followed Q without protest. Though his mother hadn’t been rude, per se, navigating conversation with her was still something that kept him on his toes. Once they were alone in the living room, James sank against the plush leather of a loveseat and looked at Q, the quirk of a smile hovering at his lips, “Am I performing to your standards?”

"You're being very well behaved, yes," Q replied, turning his head away from the smoke. "I hope you can relax and be yourself eventually. You're very good at playing the polite house guest, but we both know you're not quite what you seem," he continued teasingly.

At that James laughed, voice dropping so low that even Q had to strain to hear him, “Be myself?” Teasing in response, James kept on though he was very careful to ensure that nobody was within eavesdropping range, “So I should tell your parents that I am a spy for the English government, licensed to kill?”

"I didn't say tell them the truth. I said be yourself. You're much more cheeky than this," Q replied. He moved as though he meant to kiss James, then pulled away. "Ugh. That thing is repulsive," he complained as he pulled back, though it was probably for the best as his father arrived at that moment. 

"I hope I wasn't interrupting something," Everett said, clearly having caught the near kiss.

With a wicked smirk, James turned toward Everett and responded breezily, “Benjamin is displeased with my cigar. He’s certainly his mother’s child.” If Q wanted him to be cheeky, he would be cheeky. Perhaps not with Evangeline quite yet, but it felt like a safe route to take with his father. 

Everett chuckled and sat in his chair across from them, careful to hold the cigar so the smoke drifted out the cracked window and not into the room - something he learned to keep Evangeline from being too unhappy. "Yes, he is, in many ways," Everett agreed fondly. "So, what shall we do with our evening? Are you a chess fan, Mr. Bond?"

“I play,” James nodded his agreement with the suggestion, though he was careful to maintain his modesty, “though with your background I assume you would pose a significant challenge.” Inhaling the cigar smoke deep into his lungs, James closed his eyes in pleasure for a moment and held it there before releasing it in the direction of the window as well. There wasn’t much a good cigar and a stiff drink couldn’t fix in his book.

"Well, then. If we offend Ben and Evangeline enough with our cigars, I'd be happy to challenge you. But until then, I'm sure they'd be bored watching us play," Everett replied, looking forward to having a new partner to play with. Evangeline and Q were both very good chess players, but they all knew the other's moves well enough that it was hardly interesting. 

"Why don't we all play poker, father?" Q suggested with a somewhat sly expression. His father was good because he could count the cards, and James was just... good. He was passable, and so was his mother when she deigned to join them in a game. Alice wasn't the greatest poker player, but she was fun to be around which made up for it.

At that James’s smile widened – he didn’t speak, but it was clear the idea pleased him. When Everett easily agreed to the proposal and suggested that they retire to the lounge to play James rose, straightening his suit cuffs before following the other two men through the expansive home. Though he preferred the high stakes games he played with government money there was still fun to be had in playing for spare change among friends. Especially in those occasions where he had the opportunity to wipe the floor with Alec; those were among his favorite games.

As they were heading to the lounge - the only other room in the house Evangeline allowed Everett to smoke in without much complaint - Q's mother and aunt intercepted them. As she approached, Everett held out the third cigar he'd taken from the humidor. "Everett, you thoughtful man!" Alice chirped, kissing him on the cheek and taking the cigar. Evangeline's expression darkened. By her exacting count, Alice was now at strike six.

"Where are we headed, dear?" she asked, trying to change the subject so that she didn't scold her sister for taking Everett up on his disgusting habit. He smiled in response and gestured for her to walk beside him.

"The lounge, Benjamin suggested we play poker. I hope you'll be joining us," Everett replied and from Alice's laughter he knew at least his sister-in-law was in. Evangeline simply sighed softly and nodded in agreement, offering to bring drinks while he set up the game.

The rest of the night passed in gentle banter and a clean sweep of the table on James’s part, though Alice had almost managed to bluff him out of a very sizable pot at the last moment. He was surprised at the skill with which Evangeline played – it wasn’t a talent he would have expected from her. Of course, Everett had his own skills but James had learned quite a while ago how to handle a card counter. By the time they retired that night James was pleasantly buzzed and somewhat aroused, perturbed to be reminded yet again that he and Q were to sleep in separate rooms. 

At ten o'clock, shortly after their poker game had ended, Evangeline stood and smiled at the rest of the table. "If you'll all excuse me, I'll be heading to bed now. Mr. Bond, would you like a wake up call in the morning, or will you make it to breakfast on time on your own?" Her offer seemed innocent, but it was just another reminder that she would be checking to make sure he stayed in his own room, and her son in his.

At that James laughed softly – he always enjoyed older women of Evangeline’s type. Dissembling them in their bedrooms had been his specialty. But he certainly had no intentions of seducing anyone tonight, much less Q’s mother, and so he just enjoyed her pert backhanded warnings and responded without a hint of subterfuge, “I’ll make it to breakfast on my own, thank you.”

She nodded, then turned to Q with the same smile, the warning clear in her eyes. "I'll make sure you're awake at the usual time, Benjamin," she said, clearly not anticipating any argument from him. Q just nodded and smiled at her innocently. 

"Of course, mother. Sleep well." Satisfied, Evangeline turned and went upstairs. Q turned to address his father and aunt. "Should we expect the two of you to retire soon, or should we play a different game?"

Everett chuckled, looking between his son and James with a knowing glint in his eyes. He found this particular rule of Evangeline’s to be archaic, especially considering that same-sex marriage had only become legal recently. “Why don’t I see your mother to bed,” he answered with that same indulgent tone to his voice, “make sure she settles in comfortably for the night.” 

Alice agreed, the same knowing expression on her face. She had often snuck around with her boyfriend under her own parent's nose, and Q was 30 now. Even though she was protective of him in her own way, he was too old for that particular rule in her mind. The remaining four wished each other good night, Alice and Everett heading upstairs first. Once they were alone, Q lingered at the table. "What did you think of your first day with my parents?"

Shaking his head, James gave Q a soft smile but otherwise was rather quiet in his response, “It went well.” Standing, James pulled Q up out of his chair and into his arms, kissing him deeply, tongue working against the other man’s in a way that clearly would have been inappropriate in front of his parents. It was rare they had a full day off together and to have to spend it so chaste had been the worst part of today.

Q knew he should pull back and remind him that they could return at any moment, but he missed the closeness too much. He wound his arms around James' neck and kissed him back until he was breathless, and he was smiling as he came up for air. "I think so too. We should get in bed; mother will be up listening for us for awhile, but if you're patient I can sneak away."

“Or we could just tell your mother we’re grown men and do as we please,” James responded, though there was no real conviction behind the words. He respected the idea of “my house, my rules” because he’d damn well expect someone in his flat to do as he said. But it didn’t mean he liked it. Sighing softly, James turned toward the stairs only after kissing Q once more, “Go on.”

Q rolled his eyes at that suggestion, knowing just how well that would go over. He retired to his room and settled in, checking in with Moneypenny via text and killing time for half an hour before he felt it was safe to sneak out. He used to sneak down to his father's study at night to read, and he did it so often he knew exactly where to step to avoid the sound of creaking floorboards. He followed the usual path back to the room James was in, slipping inside and crawling under the covers.

James was alert and waiting, pulling Q in close as soon as the younger man came within reach. Nuzzling his face into Q’s hair, the omnipresent tension running through him abated somewhat at the familiar, comforting scent. James didn’t feel the need to speak or keep them awake – he just wanted this, Q here in his arms. It was easy to drift off now.

Q set a silent alarm and brought his phone with him, knowing he'd have to be back in the other bed by 5:30. It was worth having to get up early to keep from spending his night alone. He'd grown accustomed to having James with him when he was home, and he was gone so often it felt like wasted time. If his mother found out, he would deal with it, though he was fairly certain she wouldn't. "Goodnight, James," he murmured softly as he felt the other man relax finally.

“Goodnight,” James managed to murmur before sleep overtook him. Though he mourned the loss of Q so early in the morning getting to have him at all was what mattered. 

Through the rest of the visit James stayed on his best behavior, though there were two instances he couldn’t help but poke the bear just to see what reaction he might get out of Evangeline. All in all, though it had felt like a very formal holiday, it hadn’t been a bad visit. That didn’t mean he wasn’t grateful when they got back into his Aston Martin and headed home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you again, a million times over, anyone who came along this far with us. We hope you enjoyed reading this as much as we did writing it and thank you for your warm words along the way. 
> 
> To James and Q, and the hope for a happy future.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you, anyone who is reading this, a million times over. We are so grateful you took the time and hope you enjoyed!


End file.
